#feyd x y/n

[sp4ceboo]

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed you was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

[hottpinkpenguin]

The Best Pupil - Feyd Rautha X Fem!Reader

A/n: this is absolutely nothing but pure, depraved, toe-curling smut. MINORS - keep it moving, this is not the fic for you! 18+ only! this is my first time writing for Feyd, also probably my most explicit oneshot yet - happy to do more if anyone has requests :)

Tags: Dom!Reader/Sub!Feyd, breeding kink, curvy/plus size reader, praise kink, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), anal play, orgasm denial, student/teacher vibes, non-canon stuff, soft!Feyd, angst turn to fluff, smutsmutsmutsmuttysmutsmut, plotless smut Word Count: 4160

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You strode into the na-Baron’s bedchamber, pulling back the hood of your rain-soaked cloak. You couldn’t see him in the lightless room, but you knew he was there.

“Feyd.”

Nothing but silence. No bother. You knew how to draw him out. 

You began to pull at the line of clasps that ran down the front of the cloak, locking it like a vice around your silhouette. One by one, the clasps sprang open. The gown you wore underneath was strapless, and you let the cloak fall off your shoulders to reveal your skin to the light of Giedi Prime’s moon. You could practically smell Feyd’s excitement, even if you couldn’t see him. You knew his eyes were drinking you in from the darkness. You tilted your head back, your eyelids fluttering closed as you undid the final clasp, letting the cloak pool at your feet.

This time, you heard an audible inhale as Feyd slunk towards you out of the shadows. You wore nothing but a sheer gauzy black gown underneath, putting your ample curves on full display for your na-Baron. Your nipples were already hard and chafing against the barely-there material of your dress.

“Come out and play, Feyd,” you simmered. He was on you before his name fell quiet off your tongue. 

“Priestess.” He exhaled as he said your title, the way he lingered on the s’s sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands found his face easily - smooth, soft skin pulled taut over the hard lines of his jaw. You let your fingers dance small circles across his cheeks, lips, and brow. He was panting but perfectly still in front of you. Just like you’d taught him. You smirked as you found his lips, trembling with anticipation, and plunged two your fingers inside his mouth. 

“Suck.” Feyd, ever eager to please you, obeyed. His lips closed in around your digits and you felt his tongue dance over your fingertips. Delicate and restrained. 

“Such a good boy for me.” Feyd whimpered in ecstasy at your praise. You saw his eyes close as he doubled his efforts on your fingers. You moved them around his mouth, reaching back to touch his molars and running them along the inside of his cheeks. He was vibrating, his hands desperate to touch you, to rip the layers of your gown off you and lose himself in your body. But years of training had left him completely under your control. Feyd-Rautha, the brutal heir to the blood-soaked Harkonnen legacy, was putty in your deft hands. 

“Good job, na-Baron,” you cooed as you pulled your fingers out of his mouth. His greedy mouth tried to follow your fingers, desperate for more of you, all of you, any part of you that you would grant him. You thought about smacking him, making him kneel, maybe punishing him for being so needy by retiring to your private quarters and leaving him hopelessly unfulfilled until the next lunar cycle. But your body was keening for release, desperate for him inside you, pounding into you until you couldn’t breathe, couldn't talk, couldn’t think.

“Patience, my love. Patience.” Feyd bit his lip as his eyes poured into you, waiting for your next move, his next command. 

“Watch.”

Only the simmer in his eyes betrayed his frustration at being denied the satisfaction of your skin. He nodded with a lovesick pout as you walked past him, over to his expansive bed. Black silk sheets were strewn like pools of water over the bed. You sank backwards onto the mattress, hiking the delicate fabric of your see-through gown up over your thighs. You leaned back, exposing your pussy to Feyd. His eyes devoured the sight greedily as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to control his desire for you.

“Come here. Kneel.” You pointed at the smooth, marbled floor in front of where your legs were propped up and spread open. You could feel the cool night breeze hitting the moisture already pooled in between your thighs. Feyd obeyed, moving with restrained strength as he came to kneel before you. The muscles in his neck and jaw were locked tight, every fiber of his concentration bent on restraint. 

“Closer, na-Baron. Close enough to smell me.” 

Feyd’s eyes flicked over your face as he obeyed your torturous commands. He sidled closer to your wet slit, so close that you could feel his heavy exhales on your thighs. 

“So obedient,” you purred, letting your fingers - still damp with his spit - begin dancing over your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sensation, your free hand coming to cup one of your breasts. Your cunt shuddered, clamping down on nothing. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve let you have me,” you commented idly, your eyes locking with Feyd’s. He held your gaze, knowing that’s what you expected of him. He nodded once, a nod of pure agony. “I wonder, na-Baron,” you paused as you slid two fingers inside of you, your breath hitching in your throat at the sensation. Feyd fidgeted where he knelt in front of you. Your knuckles brushed the tip of his nose as you began working in and out of yourself. “Are you ready to please me after all this time away? Or will you give in to baser instincts?” 

You cocked an eyebrow at him, inviting him to reply. The sight of him, kneeling and stockstill between your spread-eagle legs, sent a shockwave of delight sprinkling over your skin. You threw your head back as you gave him permission to reply: “Speak.”

“Your pleasure is always my sole concern, Priestess.” Gods, he really meant it too. You were hardest on Feyd because he was your most gifted student. Endowed with impressive physicality and astounding stamina, you’d taken great care to shape his will to your needs over the years. And he always satisfied you. Always. 

“Then show me, na-Baron. Eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore.”

His eyes glittered with anticipation as he waited for the word that set him free. You pulled your fingers out of your pussy, licking your moisture off of them with a throaty moan, and settled into a propped-up position so you could watch the show. 

“Begin.” 

Your command sent Feyd into a frenzy. He dove into you like a predator, his mouth clamping down on your already twitching cunt with primal ferocity. He growled against you, arms hooking around your thighs and locking you in place. You cried out instantly, back arching off the bed as his tongue found your sensitive bud and he slipped three fingers inside you with force. 

Your first orgasm crashed against you fast and hard. Your thighs shook with pleasure as Feyd lapped and sucked and stroked you with his tongue, moaning at the sight of you coming on his mouth. You collapsed fully back to the mattress, your hands coming to his head and dragging him harder against your mound. He practically roared into you as he curled his fingers upwards inside you, pressing and pounding in and out. Your first orgasm hadn’t fully receded before you felt the coil deep within your core snapping again. Incoherent words and splinters of his name spilled from your lips as you screamed out loudly. The sound drove Feyd-Rautha mad. You knew others could hear you, and it didn’t matter. You were his Priestess, and he was your na-Baron. Let them listen.

Your entire body was shaking from the force of your pleasure when Feyd pulled back from your mound, wrenching your hips sideways to flip you 180 degrees over onto your stomach. You slammed down on the luxuriously soft sheets with a grunt of surprise. Feyd’s mouth was back on you in an instant, greedily digging at your cunt from a new angle. His fingers pulled back from your slick slit, moving upwards to your other entry and pressing inwards. 

The initial gasp of surprise turned into a chuckle, and Feyd that further coaxed into a gurgled moan of pleasure as he stretched your ass. His fingers were sopping from your orgasms and his spittle. They slid in and out of you easily. He knew your body better than his lungs knew air, and he showcased his skill with relish. Another wave of pleasure crested inside you, turning your muscles to jelly as you buried your face in the sheets, crying out his name in ecstasy. Liquid gushed from between your legs and onto his face. He groaned at the taste, lapping up every last drop as he shook his face against you, elongating the pulsing of your climax. You tried to scoot away from him, out of his grip, but you’d trained him too thoroughly to let you escape now. Your body felt like it was on fire, your oversensitive clit pounding in time with the flicks of his tongue. 

“Stop, Feyd, stop.” He only chuckled and kept going, remembering your command: eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore. 

Your fourth orgasm wiped your mind clear of any coherent thought. You were too weak, too undone to even protest. You simply closed your eyes and let Feyd guide you through. He sensed the change, his attention becoming less feral and gentler. He danced his mouth over your clit in a delicately decrescendoing pattern, letting you settle back into your body softly. When you finally reared up, hair mussed and your gown completely twisted around your midsection, he pulled off of you. He’d done well, followed your commands exactly. You clumsily flipped yourself back over, spots dancing in your vision. He was stripping off his black fighting leathers at the foot of the bed, his smooth, muscled skin shining in the dim moonlight of his chamber. 

“Priestess. I trust you’re not disappointed with my performance?” A lesser man would have smirked with smugness at that question. Evidence of your satisfaction was literally dripping off his chin. But not Feyd-Rautha. His voice was devastatingly sincere, his eyes drinking you in, waiting, begging, for your praise. 

You smiled at him, running your tongue over your lips as his erect cock sprang free of his trousers. 

“Your Priestess is never disappointed when you’re so obedient for me,” you replied. You saw Feyd shiver. He moved involuntarily to fist himself, but stilled, remembering that you had yet to allow him. 

“What would my Priestess have with me next?” he asked quietly. A dark quality to his voice, a deepening wont. The game was heating up. This was the part Feyd loved: putting aside his imminent pleasure for you. He’d done it a thousand times for you. Fuck you right up until he was shuddering with the first waves of his own finish, and then pull back from the edge at the very last moment. You’d hold him in limbo for hours, sometimes days, before you’d let him release. 

But tonight wouldn’t be like that. Tonight was different. Tonight you had news. 

“Before that, na-Baron. We have business to discuss.” You motioned for him to join you on the bed next to you. His eyes widened in anticipation, wondering what you had in store for him. He did as you bade and sank onto the silken sheets next to you. His cock bounced beguilingly as he sat, and you smirked, leaning over and taking his length in your mouth in one smooth motion. He moaned, his head throwing back, as a hand twined itself in your hair. No pressure, no guidance or demand in the touch. Just a need to feel you, to hold you. You allowed it.

You slid your mouth up and down his shaft a few times, the salty tang of his precum staining the back of your tongue. With your lips sealed shut around his member, you let your tongue trace patterns up and down the shaft and across the head as you pumped up and down. You knew just how Feyd liked it, and you felt his dick twitch appreciatively at the attention.

“What is this business, Priestess?” His voice was breathy with lust. You pulled back, letting his girth spring out of your lips with a little pop. He gasped softly and let you push his torso backwards onto the mattress. 

“I received a message from the Emperor’s Rite, the head of my order.” You guided Feyd’s feet upwards off the cool stone floor until he was lying prone on his back with his knees bent upwards against his chest. You moved yourself below him, kneeling off the edge of the bed, his backside and balls exposed to you. 

“The Rite, as you remember, makes decisions about mixing bloodlines.” You were dragging this out, and you could sense Feyd’s confusion. Determined not to let him think too far ahead, you let a dollop of spit drip out of your mouth onto his thick cock, and using one of your hands coated his length with it. 

“I remember,” he replied hoarsely. 

You licked a stripe from the base of his cock down over his balls and below, to the soft spot above his ass. He gasped - eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy - as you applied pressure there with a finger, your other hand pumping up and down on his shaft.

“The Rite has bidden me to conceive a child,” you continued. The words fell heavy on Feyd’s ears, and you felt his breath still in his chest. Feyd-Rautha hadn’t taken another woman to his bed in over six years, nor you another man. The na-Baron was dangerously jealous, and even if you were to command it of him, you knew it was beyond his ability to restrain himself from killing any man who had you in the ways he did. 

You continued your ministrations to his cock, applying pulsing pressure to the soft skin behind his balls in time with your strokes. Despite his obvious distraction at your words, his body responded with delightful predictability. His breath was growing huskier, his focus drifting.

“Conceive with who, Priestess?” he managed to choke out. Even through the fog of sex, you heard the low tone of threat in his words. You smiled, glad he couldn’t see you spoil the moment in the darkness. 

“With the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” 

Feyd’s head snapped up just as you attached your mouth to one of his balls and sucked, drawing forth a moaning cry of pleasure from him. You felt Feyd’s core muscles grind down on themselves as he shook with the force of an orgasm. Years of your careful training had shown him how to crest in pleasure without spilling his seed, something that had always been of paramount importance for the two of you. Preventing a pregnancy was your chief concern as the na-Baron’s Priestess. Until now, that was.

You continued the carefully orchestrated dance between your two hands and your mouth to coax him through his climax, his legs quaking around you as you tested the limits of his release. You loved him like this - totally vulnerable, totally trusting of you. No one else in the galaxy knew this Feyd-Rautha. No one else had this power to break him down and put him back together. And now, with what you’d just told him, no one else ever would. 

When he was coherent enough to speak, he sat upright, grabbing your chin between his forefinger and his thumb. His gaze was probing as he captured your eyes with his.

“Don’t jest, Priestess. Please.” His speech was sloppy with a mix of apprehension and longing.

You chuckled, grabbing the hand that captured your chin and pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles. 

“Am I to assume you’re not up to the task of fathering my child, na-Baron?” You gave him a wicked smirk, your eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Much to your surprise, tears of sincerity pooled at your lash line. One slipped out, sliding down your cheek until Feyd - uncharacteristically gentle - swiped it away. His hands came to frame both sides of your face as he stared into you. Feyd had never seen such a vision, never dreamt of this moment. His consorts with you had been sanctioned by the Emperor’s Rite, of course, but it was typical for nobles in the Great Houses to take sexual instruction from the Priestesses. He’d always known that you’d be tasked with conceiving a child for the furtherance of a chosen bloodline. He hadn’t let himself dare to hope that it would be his bloodline. 

For the first time since his training with you had begun over six years ago, Feyd-Rautha leaned forward and captured your lips with his. Kissing was strictly forbidden between Priestesses and their consort-pupils. It was considered too intimate, too familiar. He’d seen your lips wrapped around his cock a thousand times, but he’d never tasted them with his own mouth. He was encouraged that you didn’t pull back or toy with him. Instead, your lips met his with a matched neediness. The two of you found your rhythm easily, your tongue darting over his lips coyly. He smiled against you, his hands cupping the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him. He could taste the faintest trace of himself on your tongue, and it drove him wilder. Only until he felt close enough to swallow your heartbeats did he pull back ever so slightly, holding you still a hair’s width away from him. You looked up at him through thick lashes, your breath warm on his skin. 

“When have I ever disappointed you, my Priestess.” This time, it was his turn to smirk. He leaned in for another kiss, deep and passionate. You murmured against him the only word he needed - “Begin” - and he felt his restraint tear loose from six years of carefully constructed ritual. 

He leaned back, pulling you on top of him until your bodies were melded together in a long line. He loved the way you felt on top of him - soft and full and womanly. Warm and soft and totally fucking his. The gauzy fabric of your gown left too much skin inaccessible to his touch, so he ripped the material with ease, sliding the torn fabric out from between you and casting it aside. You kept your mouth locked on his, his mind fracturing under the weight of so many distracting sensations. He felt you reach down for his cock, steadying it between you as you shifted your hips and placed him at your entrance. 

He exhaled throatily to feel how wet you were - how ready. Normally, he would have taken his cue from you, but the news you’d just delivered had changed something. Feyd-Rautha was no longer simply your pupil. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was to be the father of your child, he was to be your breeder. 

His hands found your hips, holding you still as he thrust upwards into your folds, sheathing himself inside you with a merciless ferocity. A gasp of shivering pleasure fell off your tongue. Feyd repeated the same motion - withdrawing from your cunt completely before thrusting back up into you with a strong, hard stroke. Your tits bounced eagerly as you held yourself up above him, the entirety of your body on display for him. Feyd’s gaze raked over your curves, imagining how your breasts would get heavy and your belly swell with child. His child. The thought drove him mad. 

With a roar of desire, he flipped you over on your back, throwing your legs up to your shoulders until he had you bent completely in half. He pounded into you over and over again, coaxing another fast, brutal orgasm out of your fluttering cunt. He felt your walls convulsing around him, watched your face as you gasped out his name. Your hands grabbed at him, dragging nails down his back and pulling at his ass. As if you wanted to pull him into the very center of you, beneath your skin. If such a thing were possible, I would do it, he thought with blazing possessiveness. He leaned forward, muffling his name on your lips. You were too gone, too blissed out, to kiss him back with any dexterity whatsoever, but he didn’t mind. He wanted you broken in half with the force of him, absolutely shattered in a million little pieces of fucked out pleasure. And then, only when you were completely undone beneath him, would he loose himself inside you. He’d never spilled his cum inside your cunt. He’d painted your tits, your backside, your face, your hair with it. He’d emptied himself inside your ass before, but never inside your perfect, pounded out pussy. Goosebumps pricked across his back at the thought.

“Going to fucking come inside you, Priestess,” he moaned, feeling his release approaching. Seeing you bouncing wildly beneath him, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, was sending him hurtling towards unraveling. “Going to breed you with my child. Breed you until you can’t breath. My beautiful Priestess, my only Priestess. So fucking good to me. Say I can, Priestess. Let me come inside.” 

He didn’t know whether he was speaking out loud anymore, but you understood him. “Breed me, Feyd,” you gasped, eyes locking with his. Feyd let his mind splinter into a white fog as his forehead connected with yours. He felt your breath fanning across his face as you whined his name, felt your body slick with sweat bouncing underneath him as his movements became sloppy, felt your pussy squeezing around him as pumped himself into you. He felt like the very core of his body had become unlaced, deliciously undone. He managed to hold his weight off of you until he was utterly spent, and then collapsed on you. You didn’t seem to mind, your hips splayed open underneath him where the two of you were still connected. He could feel wetness seeping out of you - his wetness, he realized - but even that didn’t rouse him. He listened to the sound of your heartbeat matching his, let the feeling of your breath on his ear lull him in and out of the fog like a dream. Moments passed by slowly. Inch by inch, Feyd felt blood flood back into his hands, his legs, his arms. 

He pressed himself upwards enough to look down at you. Your eyes were shut, a dreamy smile on your full lips. Your hair was splayed around you like a halo - no, a goddamn crown, he realized. 

“Marry me.” 

You chuckled at his words, one of your hands coming to the skin of his back, lazily dragging back and forth across his skin. 

“Marry me, Priestess.” More insistent this time. His intention was clearer, his future beginning to lock into place in his mind. Nothing made more sense than to bind you to him.

You turned to look at him, your brows furrowed. Your lips were puffy, your skin glistening with the results of your mutual exertions.

“Marriage?” Feyd wasn’t surprised you were skeptical. Priestesses - even when they were bred - were rarely proposed to. Their purpose to the Great Houses began with tutelage and ended with child-bearing. Marrying a Priestess didn’t convey any political advantage or advance the interests of the Harkonnen household. But Feyd-Rautha would burn Giedi Prime and the entire galaxy for you. He’d always known that, but never before allowed himself to acknowledge it. 

He slid sideways off of you, propping his head up on one elbow. His eyes traced down the lines of your body as mirrored his position. He couldn’t help but thread a hand between your thighs, feeling the warmth of his cum mixed with your juices there. You were oversensitive and moaned in protest at the intrusion, but he shushed you gently. 

“Marry me, Priestess. I’ll give you the galaxy. I’ll pluck every star from the sky for you.”

You considered his words carefully, your expression serious as you held his gaze. He felt one of your hands land on his cheek, your thumb running across his lips. 

“I don’t need the galaxy, na-Baron,” you replied after a few quiet moments. “But I will marry you.” 

Feyd captured your lips in his, a soft and gentle kiss. He’d never known this type of feeling before. A soft, fluttering lightness in his chest. Joy, he thought. This is joy. 

You pulled back from him gently, merriment dancing in your large eyes. “Although, na-Baron, since you’re offering… I will take a warm cloth.” 

For one of the first times in his life, Feyd-Rautha - heir to Harkonnen house and all its bloodied riches, one of the most skilled assassins in the galaxy - laughed. 

“Anything for you, my Priestess,” he murmured, rising from the sheets. He strode over to the washroom attached to his bedchamber, glancing back at you, draped like a goddess over his bed. This, I can get used to, he thought with joy as he set off to fetch that cloth for you. 

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Command Me

Feyd Rautha X Plus Size! Y/N - drabble/series - 1.7K WC

Part 1 (you are here!)

Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: the Voice, mention of nudity, female reader, horny behaviors but no sex, voyerism, violence (nothing graphic), bad ass reader, enemies to lovers

----------------------------------------

“Stay in there and keep quiet.” the guard said as he tossed you to the floor after locking a device around your head.

You instinctively tried to pry it away but it stayed put, you were unable to speak let alone scream to be let out. You looked around the room; it looked like everything else on Giedi Prime - dark and lonely. Not even the blinding light from their black sun could penetrate the room. You had been sent to Giedi Prime as an offering. A wife for the Na-Baron now that you had both reached maturity. You knew you were fated to him, you had known your whole life. Plans within plans. The Bene Gesserit had made you just as much as they made Paul Atreides. You were from Tleilaxu. Both the Bene Gesserit and the Bene Tleilax had engineered your creation over generations, you would be the one to bring about a challenger to Paul Atredies’ heirs. And as fate would have it, a Harkonnen was the strongest match you could have. A vile race that nobody in the universe had anything good to say about. You had always known your purpose but now that you were starting to live it, you wanted nothing more than to run away or disappear all together. You had met Feyd Rautha once when you were both 15. He was a strange boy who took pleasure in others' pain. He had shown you a beating heart from a maid he had killed before you ran back to your mother screaming. After that you hadn’t seen him or had any contact. 

Until today.

The door to the room opened, you lifted your head from your hands and quickly scooted away from the intruder until your back was against the wall. The door shut and the room was once again encased in darkness but you could see the man's striking white skin. His eyes were dark and you could feel them on you. He knelt in front of you, you raised your hand to strike him but he caught your wrist. All you could hear was your heavy breathing and your heartbeat in your ears. 

“You are just as simple as I remember, Tleilaxan.” he said, grabbing your chin and looking you over. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was one to talk. Tleilaxan were pale just like Harkonnen. Black eyes just like Harkonnen. The only physical difference between you two was that you had hair and your teeth weren’t black, they were slightly pointed. You grunted, trying to combat his insult but the gagging device on your head stopped you. He let go of your chin harshly, tossing your head to one side. 

“I remember you, ya know. How frightened of me you were when we were teenagers. Running away to your mother like a child. How pathetic.” he said as he stood up. 

The lights in the room finally illuminated. You blinked a few times adjusting to your surroundings, it was a bedroom chamber. It looked lived in but neat; you stood but kept a distance between you and the man who you could now fully see - Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. He was different from the last time you saw him. Not as scrawny. Still lean but he filled out his armor with plenty of muscle. His face was much sharper. His eyes were sullen and distant. He looked cold, dangerous. You pulled at your gag again, trying your hardest to get it off. You could feel some sort of mechanism in the back, you could tell it required a key. 

“This is our quarters. We will share it but I expect you to make yourself scarce.” Feyd said, walking towards you. “You will stay here until the wedding in a few days.” his eyes searched your face but you weren’t sure what he was looking for.

You kept your gaze stern. You weren't afraid of him; you weren't a scared child running back to your mother. You were Tleiaxu, a Face Dancer. If anyone should be afraid, it’s him. You shapeshifted into an exact copy of Feyd. His eyes widened, stepping back slightly. You walked closer to him, your gaze never leaving him. The Bene Gesserit had made you more than a capable fighter. To be the wife of Feyd Rautha they had not only trained you in their ways of battle and the voice but had you train with the especially brutal Sardaukar. You kicked at Feyds knee when you were close enough. He countered your strike, holding your ankle and twisting it. You dropped to the floor, using your other foot to kick Feyd over your head. He released your ankle due to the sheer force with which you kicked him. You rolled backwards, straddling Feyds chest where you locked his arms between your legs. He kicked and thrusted trying to move you but you remained solid. You glared down at him, pointing at your gag. He chuckled, moving his hand slightly towards his pocket. You clenched your thighs tighter, stopping him from moving completely. You reached inside his pocket, finding something akin to a key. Quickly you unlocked your gag, tossing it across the room. You rubbed your jaw finally letting the muscles loosen. In your distracted state Feyd thrusted his legs up, catching your shoulders so your roles were reversed. He straddled you with a smile taking a small knife out from his back blade holster. The shock rocked you back into your natural state, the shapeshift of him disappearing. He leaned forward bringing the knife to your neck.

“STOP” you said, using the Voice. 

He halted his motions and you could see the anger on his face, you could tell he felt like you were cheating.

“GET OFF ME, STAND STILL” you said, standing as soon as he was off you. “GIVE ME THE KNIFE” he did just as he was instructed. You could see him trying to fight your orders but he simply couldn’t. Very few had developed the skill to disobey the power of the Voice. You pointed the knife at his throat, the very tip of it pushing against him almost drawing blood. “You breathe because I allow it. Do not make an enemy of me, Feyd Rautha.” your tone was threatening and full of venom. “GET OUT” you said finally, keeping his blade. You watched him leave. You knew he would be back later, most likely set on revenge. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

You sighed as you explored your new home chambers. It was expansive, every room seemed to lead to another. A bedroom. A living room. A bathroom. A library. A viewing room overlooking all of Giedi Prime. A massive stairway that led to an upper floor which led out to the main halls of the palace. You weren’t used to the time difference yet, having only arrived a few hours ago but you could tell from the eerily empty, dark halls it was night time. You went back to your quarters, snooping through the closets and drawers. You found everything you could ever need; towels, blankets, bathroom supplies, dresses, armor, underwear, weapons, etc. The dresses were different from that on Tleilaxu. All black, all slightly resembling armor, yet soft and breathable. You shed your clothing, taking one of what you assumed was Feyd’s larger shirts and underwear to the bathroom. You filled the bathtub. You expected water but instead got some sort of strange, oily black substance. You dipped your hand in cautiously, rubbing it between your fingers. It had the feel of water. You shrugged, not really having a choice before you sank down into it. It felt strange, slightly thicker than water but it was making you feel clean. Just another adjustment you’ll have to make. 

----------------------------------------------

Feyd watched you from behind the two way mirror. He had grown up in this palace and knew it as well as his own body. He knew every secret it held. He watched you with confusion on his face. He felt embarrassed you bested him. You cheated, you used the Voice which he could not combat against. Yet he felt a strange sense of admiration. You exploited your opponents weakness. Clever. He could tell just from the reflexes you had during the fight that you were Sardaukar. What really amazed him was the shapeshifting. He had never seen a Face Dancer in person, only read of their histories. It was the greatest skill developed, rivaling the Voice of the Bene Gesserit. The fact that you had shapeshifting, the Voice, and advanced training - they may have picked him the perfect wife after all. You were far from the scared teenager he had met. When you rejected his demonstration of love, giving you a beating heart, a bitter seed towards you was planted. Yet your actions today made his insides stir with a wave of emotions he couldn’t quite place a description to. Admiration? That was the closest he could get. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state he was tempted to barge in and continue your fight, using the element of surprise against you. He almost made the move to, until he saw you start to wash over your curves. Sitting up on your knees in the bath to scrub over your body, he was hypnotized as the black water slipped down you. His throat tightened. You were a woman now, shapely and perfect compared to the twiggy women of Giedi Prime. His mind ran away with images of his hands gliding over you, everywhere. Your plush thighs, and soft tummy called out to him. He got closer to the mirror, you looked up for a moment meeting his gaze through the mirror, his breath hitched. You stood up, scrubbing the lower half of your body. His jaw dropped, you were the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. He begged for you to hold that knife to his neck again, just to have you close to him. He could feel the strain his cock made against his armor but tried his best to ignore it. As you rinsed the rest of the black from your skin he kept his eyes on your wandering hands, silently praying they would make their way between your legs. You stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around yourself before drying your hair with another. When he saw you slide one of his undershirts on he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning; his hips bucking forwards slightly out of pure want. 

He had to have you, he would do everything in his power to make you want him too.

----------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello all! Haven't written for our favorite evil bald boy in a hot minute so I thought I'd deliver. I think I'm going to make this a mini series? I gotta come up with more of a plot because this was all just word vomit, gotta find a direction for it. I'm probably going to be writing more as the job search continues. I broke up with my boyfriend today so I will be distracting myself with the love of fictional men. I hope you are all doing well and thriving. Talk soon XOXOXOXOX!!!!!!

[kasagia]

Right hand

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: You were his right-hand (wo)man after he saw you in combat during your training on the Bene Gesserit. He freed you from them and turned you from a Bene Gesserit into a faithful soldier who took care of all his dirty business. Getting rid of the bodies of the people he killed, organising opponents for him to fight, poor people on whom he could vent his anger and desire for bloodshed, or even concubines. You were his eyes and ears in the baron's court. You reported everything to him, being more effective than any Bene Gesserit. But he wants more... much more. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; bathing together; dagger play; breeding kink? I guess; a lot things happening; my first time for Feyd so I'm a little nervous😅; enjoy!; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~

It wasn't your choice to undergo Bene Gesserit training. Your mother abandoned you when you were a little baby and took you to these terrible women, leaving you to their mercy.

You hated them. Their entire organisation, which included planned breeding, aimed at creating the Kwisatz Haderach. To you, these women were a sick cult that you were reluctant to be a part of. You trembled with fear, thinking of the day when they would send you to extend the genetic line of a nobel family by lending your womb or to ensure that their plans succeeded.

However, you realised that you had little say in the matter. The Bene Gesserit would find you anywhere if you tried to run and hide. You were doomed to follow the orders of your crazy old reverend mother and wait in fear for the day when you could prove your usefulness.

But one day, you crossed paths with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. And for a very long time, you considered it a real gift from fate. The first happy turn of events in your tragic life.

He was on a diplomatic mission. He was being shown around by the princess of your planet, and they happened to be attending the training of the Bene Gesserit sisters. You immediately caught his attention. Your movements were smoother, full of the passion of a true warrior. You charmed him so much that, at first, he thought you had put a spell on him. After seeing your potential and your obvious dislike for your sisters, he took you with him to Giedi Prime.

He faked your death so the Bene Gesserit sisters wouldn't come looking for you. He made you his right hand, his most trusted soldier. It was only after years of service under the Na-Baron that you realised that you had entered a much worse hell than any plans the Bene Gesserit had for you.

Feyd Rautha was supposed to be your personal devil. But first, you saw him as your saviour.

An animalistic, bloodthirsty scream resounds throughout the na-baron's private training room as his 'toy' falls dead under the blow she received from the furious man. You enter the room just as Feyd pierces him with his sword, causing drops of blood to land on your face.

You wipe them away, undeterred by the na-baron's brutality. Years of service had accustomed you to all the acts of cruelty he was capable of. At least this time, the dead man's entrails didn't spill around him. You hated calling his harpies to the feast. Despite so many years spent at the side of the baron's favourite nephew, you never got used to his concubines. They made you feel strangely uneasy.

"My lord, na-baron." You say, announcing your presence. Feyd breathes heavily and shifts his mad, furious gaze to you, not noticing your entrance until you speak.

You walk past the body, avoiding the pool of blood, and hand him a towel. He takes it from you without a word, wiping the sweat and blood from his head, chest, and back. You ignore his exposed muscles and kneel next to the man on whom he took out his anger, preparing to carry him out of the room before the next opponent/toy shows up.

"You were right. That old fool entrusted Arrakis to my brother. He will embarrass our family in one day. Ha! Even half is enough for him! This wretch doesn't know how to manage a small province, let alone an entire planet with fremen ready to attack at any corner." He says, rubbing himself furiously. He throws a towel into the corner of the room and walks to the table to pour himself something to drink.

"He gives him a chance to prove himself. When he wastes it, you will get it and prove to the baron and the lords that you are rightfully entitled to the title of baron." You say, securing the body so the guards at the door can carry it out.

"Every fool knows that. It's obvious that I'm a better choice than this scoundrel, who will sell the secrets of our family and swear allegiance to anyone who threatens his life. Baron throws a party in his honor. To the success of his mission. He's just doing it to piss me off. He doesn't give a damn about Rabban or whether he succeeds. This is just another of his tests on me. That's why you're coming with me. I've already sent for a dress for you." You look up at him with your surprised gaze. You're even more shocked when he reaches out his hand to help you up—something you didn't expect from him in his white, burning rage state.

"A dress?" You ask, taking his hand. You hold your breath, keeping yourself from gasping, as he lifts you off the floor with one strong pull. Unprepared, you bump completely onto his chest, not being able to keep your balance.

You freeze at the feeling of his muscled body close to yours. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline he felt while killing this poor man. You tense up, seeing his icy-blue eyes already staring at yours. He starts giggling darkly as he presses you tighter against him so you can feel every muscle of his.

"Is there a problem? Would you prefer to come naked? I wouldn't mind, but…”

"I'm simply surprised that you want me there officially. I usually sneak there. I watch from the shadows. Well, you know." You interrupt me before he can insinuate anything, and with his silent permission, you move a decent distance away from him, leaving his arms.

You always had to be careful when making moves like this. You saw how he punished for minor offences, just for breathing. And you didn't run away from the Bene Gesserit with him to lose your life because of one of his… impulses. Although he has never put you in any serious danger, which was strangly amazing, since all of the servants who worked for him (and are still alive) have experienced his wrath on their bodies at least once.

"I know. But this time, I need you by my side. Not in hiding. My birthday is coming up—the most important of them all. I want to know what my uncle will come up with. Maybe you can find out something from the Lords. Besides, why wouldn't I want to have such beauty on my arm?"

"You want a woman by your side so you can humiliate your brother before he leaves? Perpetuate in him a sense of belief that you are superior, even if you don't have power over Arrakis right now?"

You see his hands tighten on his blades. You purse your lips, realising you were too quick to question his intentions. Basic mistake. You shouldn't have tested the waters when you knew Feyd was already on the end of his patience.

He takes a step towards you, entering your personal space. You swallow and lift your head to meet his gaze. This wasn't the first time he had intimidated you, tested you, carefully gauged your reaction, and waited until he finally saw the fear in your eyes. But you never gave him that satisfaction. If the Bene Gesserit taught you anything, it was that fear was weakness. A weakness you could tame... at least enough not to show it to anyone else.

So you endure his piercing, burning gaze with indifference. You stay like that even after a small smirk starts to appear on his face. You wonder how many people before you saw that smirk and stared into those night-black eyes on Giedi Prime as they passed from this world.

"That pink little tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day, my little witch." He purrs, his tone low and dangerous. He reaches up to your face with his free hand and gently runs his hand through your hair, caressing your cheek and jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Possible. I'm a na-baron... don't I deserve the best?" He looks defiantly at you, throwing you the proverbial gauntlet. He's waiting for you to stumble. For open defiance of his order.

You don't understand why, but he's been acting like this more and more lately. He made ambiguous comments, carefully watching your reaction. It was something new—a change in his behaviour that you hadn't figured out the reason for yet. But you had too much on your mind to think about it any longer.

"I can prepare you a beautiful concubine perfect for Giedi Prime standards." You suggest at which he shakes his head, laughing hoarsely. He turns his back to you and pours himself another glass of water.

"It's not necessary. I want you. Go and get ready. I'll join you in two hours when I'm done here." He says just as the door opens to reveal the soldiers you called for to take the body away and who have brought him a new drugged opponent. Feyd licks his lips, flips the blade up, and catches it, making a little show before lunging at his toy.

"As you wish, my na-baron." You say before leaving him to get ready for the party. Another warrior's scream echoes off the walls of the chamber as Feyd unleashes his anger on him.

You scan the room carefully, standing with your glass against the wall in a more crowded part of the room. You try your best to blend in with the crowd, but with your hair down, it's not that easy. Even if you try to cover your hair, you can feel people's curious gazes on you. But the worst ones are the burning gazes of the lords on you, some of them too lustful to be able to feel comfortable.

If you could, you would hide in the shadows, as usual, and observe them without being the centre of attention. You felt like a monkey in a circus or an exotic animal at an exhibition. The cold hand on your shoulder reminds you why you can't do this. You turn around to once again meet the na-baron's intense gaze today.

"You look good." He says as his eyes carefully scan the black latex dress with cutouts on the sides that reach down to your hipbones. "But I don't remember having that metal corset disguised as armour and that ridiculous chain veil sent to you along with the dress."

"I almost mistook this rag for a nightgown. I had to wear something on it. They think I'm your whore anyway; we don't have to prove it to them." You respond to his taunt and turn towards him. He is wearing black, formal armour, which is perfect as an official outfit.

"Do you find it scandalous to be my whore, little witch? Maybe even disgusting?" You meet his gaze to roll your eyes at him, at which he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don't like this closeness, but there's nothing you can do to push his hand off of you. You are in public. Such a gesture towards him would be equivalent to a death sentence.

"I see nothing... honourable or good in being anyone's whore, my na-baron." You say, gently moving away from him so as not to lean on him as much.

"Have you seen anything noteworthy?" He asks, unfazed by your trying to move away from him. He pulls you up, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter and making your back rest against his chest. His fingertips brush against the exposed skin, caressing your hipbone.

You frown, turning your head to look at him. He's never been so... clingy before. He always respected your personal space and never touched you. You blame it on his desire to tease his brother, who is staring at you intently from across the room, and you shift your gaze to the people present at the party.

"Several lords congratulated your brother. However, there are rumours and beliefs that he will not be up to the task. Some also believe that you will slit his throat before his ship leaves for Arrakis."

"This idea crossed my mind. If you hadn't brought this information to me earlier, you would probably have had to deal with making the public believe in his… tragic and sudden death from natural causes."

"Natural causes; I wish I could see that." You scoff, finishing your drink. You turn around, leaving his arms, and set your glass down on the table. When you turn to him again, he holds out his hand for you to take.

"You'll see if you don't entertain me. I'm bored, and looking at this smug idiot isn't helping my patience or my ability to restrain myself. Dance with me, my little witch."

"You're interrupting my work." You complain, taking his hand. He leads you to the dance floor and spins you around, pulling you tight against his chest. He holds you close to him, perfectly placing his steps and moving to the beat of the music. He is as fluid in dancing as he is in fighting. Flawless as always.

"I'm your work. You are my right hand; you meet all my needs. I don't think I need to remind you of that, do I?" He asks in challenge, taking your chin between his two fingers as he looks at you carefully. You only smile at him in a sweet, artificial way. He laughs, fully aware of how fake this act is, and drops your chin.

Over the years, you discovered that he liked it when you teased him and responded to his taunts with your own. Of course, only when no one could hear it, and not very often. He had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't afford for anyone to see his right-hand (wo)man mocking him. Unbeknownst to you, he found it adorable the way your eyes lit up whenever you did something mischievous.

"Of course not, my na-baron."

"Good." He nods at your words. He takes his eyes off you for a moment and focuses on something behind your shoulder. He leans down, his cheek brushing against yours. You shiver at the sudden closeness, his scent becoming more distinct as you inhale it wholeheartedly. It's captivating. Sweet. Intoxicating. Dangerous. Just like him. "Do you have your daggers?" His hot whisper reaches your ear. He's so close, you can almost feel his full lips brush against your earlobe.

"Yes, why?" You ask, perfectly masking the tremble in your voice. But you doubt whether you can hide from him how your heartbeat speeds up. You blame it on the adrenaline rush. Not fear caused by his proximity.

"It seems to me that you will soon have to prove to these imbeciles once again why I chose you to be my right-hand man." He explains as the song ends.

You feel him reluctantly release you from his embrace and take a step away from you. You turn around and see his brother walking towards you, his right hand following him, giving you a mischievous look and a lecherous, mocking smile when he sees your outfit. You straighten up, lifting your head proudly at the man in a similar position to yours. The difference between you was that you served the stronger Harkonnen. It would give you an inviolably higher position if, like them, you had a penis between your legs.

"Brother. You finally brought your pet to play with us." Rabban says, nodding to his brother. You feel a wave of disgust as his gaze lingers on you longer.

Feyd tenses, furious, as his brother's eyes are all on you. You wouldn't have noticed if his hand hadn't been on your hip bone a moment later, hiding some of your exposed skin from his brother's eyes. You wonder what his problem might be. After all, he chose this dress for you by himself.

"Be careful. She doesn't have a muzzle. I would prefer that no harm come to you before you go to Arrakis. She's got some pretty... sharp teeth." He says it condescendingly, pulling you closer to him. In a perfect world, you'd kick them both in the groin. Unfortunately, you don't have that luxury. You can only imagine putting these two pseudo-alpha males in their place. But how sweet these dreams are...

"What about a small competition? My man against yours? Let's see what this mysterious beauty that you keep hidden can really do." Rabban's right-hand man gives you a cocky, confident look. He plays with the dagger in his hand, making a poor show that was intended to intimidate you. You roll your eyes behind your metal chain veil and shift your gaze to Feyd. You are only subject to his orders. Not some weak, pathetic creatures.

"This party is already dead. Do you want to kill also YOUR pet?" Feyd mocks him, and you almost break your unflappable, emotionless attitude, barely holding back your laughter. Na-baron sees this and smiles to himself, rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb on your hipbone.

"Are you afraid that she won't heat your bed anymore?" Feyd narrows his eyes at him. You feel his fingertips dig painfully into your hip as he tries to keep himself from lunging at his brother with the blade. You know full well that the eyes of the lords, the baron, and most of the people at the party are turned towards you.

"I have no doubt whatsoever about the outcome of this little skirmish. She will just sweat unnecessarily. And I would rather have her in full strength tonight." He says it in a mocking tone, shifting his gaze towards you. He licks his lips and tightens his grip to make his lewd intentions towards you clear to the two men.

Despite his famous reputation, he never touched you. Giedi Prime society might have thought otherwise, but in the years you had served as his right-hand man, he had never once taken you to bed or had you entertain him at night. You appreciated it immensely, which is why you accepted such behaviour from him without batting an eyelid whenever you were in public. It was all a game to maintain the reputation he had built over the years. Or so you thought.

"Feyd, boy, release your pet. Let her entertain us." The baron's words interrupt any skirmish that might have developed between the brothers.

It was not uncommon at Giedi Prime parties for soldiers to fight against each other to entertain the crowd. You just didn't think that you would have to fight someone during your first official arrival at the party. Although you should have anticipated such an unexpected turn of events. The baron and Rabban would not miss the opportunity to find out how much you were really worth and why Feyd, out of all the talented soldiers, chose the Bene Gesserit as his right-hand man.

You send a quick glance at Feyd. He gives you a small nod, so you bow to the baron and prepare to fight. The crowd around you parts to form a circle. You feel people's excitement as you flip the metal chains from your face to your hair, revealing more of your face. You wrap the shawl around your hair, tying it tighter and making sure it won't get in the way of your fight.

You look at your opponent, who is also preparing, trying to spot any of his weak points before the fight even begins. Rabban says something in his ear, which causes the manly smile to grow. Feyd stands in front of you, blocking your view of them. You look into his steel blue eyes as he leans towards you.

"Don't hold back." He whispers in your ear, handing you his blade. "And finish it quickly. We have other things to do."

You nod at him. He walks away from you, sending a mocking smirk at your opponent. He spreads his arms, taking a few steps back, as if inviting him to try his hand at you. You feel the burning gaze of his eyes on your back as you position yourself in front of the man.

"Don't worry, witch. If I win, I won't kill you. It's a shame to waste such a pretty face. I wonder if you're as good as the rumours say. Your pussy must be good to keep the na-baron entertained for so long." He says, waiting for you to activate your shield. But you don't do this. You want to completely humiliate him and give everyone in the room a clear message about your power and that you didn't secure your place just by having a pretty face. The crowd cheers, but you think you can hear Feyd growl furiously amidst the shouts of approval.

"I doubt you'll have the chance to find out." You say, and without waiting for his next words, you attack.

After the first few attacks, you figure out his tactics. He is physically strong, it's true, but that's his only advantage. It attacks you in a learned way, repeating its patterns. You read him quickly and position yourself to use his strength and mass against him. You could have walked up to him a long time ago and slit his throat, but you know it would be much better if you had some fun with him. You will show that you have complete control over the course of this fight.

You dodge the man's punches, and after a few minutes, you quickly get bored when you once again manage to kick him and send him to his knees. You take advantage of the moment he gets up from the floor to glance at your na-baron. Feyd doesn't look happy with your introduction. Of course, you see his interested look and how he appreciates your skills, but he doesn't look at you like he usually does. He doesn't wait with bated breath for your next move, like the crowd around you does. You can tell from his face that he wants you to finish this as soon as possible. You frown, surprised that he of all people doesn't enjoy watching the fight. You wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

Your moment of inattention is, of course, immediately exploited by your opponent. You manage to fend off the man's blade, but not his kick, which sends you landing on your butt on the floor. You feel rage more than pain; you only see red when you hear the cocky laugh of the man you are fighting with. You're so focused on driving the blade into his body that you don't notice Feyd's angry look, the murder in his eyes, and the desire to rip your opponent apart with his own hands as you fall to the floor. And you certainly don't see the trembling of his hand, as he instinctively wanted to grab you and pull you safely behind him.

You strike once, quickly driving the blade into the man's stomach and leaving it there. You push him to his knees, push away the hand that holds the sword, and reach for the dagger hidden in the sleeve of your dress. You strike a second time, piercing his shoulder. You stick the second dagger into his hand and knock the weapon out of his hand, taking it from him. You grab the man's throat in a tight grip and tilt his head back. You lean over him, a mocking smirk on your face as he struggles to breathe.

"I didn't even take off my high heels." You mocked him as you slit his throat.

You smile victoriously as you decapitate him. His head rolls at your feet, blood splattering your dress and face as you breathe heavily. You sigh, feeling your heart pound in your chest, as you bow to the crowd surrounding you as they shout and applaud you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban's sour, angry expression. You kick the head of his right hand towards him and give him a small smirk. You stand upright as you meet the eyes of your na-baron.

And then you saw it. Hunger in his eyes. Pure lust and desire, as his pupils were wide and solemnly focused on you.

You knew that gaze. He only looked like that at things he really wanted. Only his favourite concubines got THAT look from him or a beautiful, precisely made weapon that fit perfectly in his hands. Usually he had that look in his eyes right after the great battle he won. He would lock himself with his concubines and then spend long hours in his chambers, giving himself completely to his primal instincts.

You shiver as he walks towards you, ignoring anything else in the room. He grabs you tightly by the throat, and, to the delight of the drunken crowd who are screaming madly with excitement after the show you had made, he kisses you.

It is hard, hungry, and passionate. His hand completely removes the metal chains and shawl that were covering your head, and he pulls you to him as close as possible. His grip on your hair and throat is tight as he demands that your mouth be opened for him by biting your lower lip. You moan involuntarily, causing his tongue to slip into your mouth, as he is exploring new territory with a zeal you've never seen from him.

He pulls away from you when you're completely out of breath. Your vision is blurry, your heart is pounding from the adrenaline of the fight, and you can only stare at him stupidly and blankly while trying to understand what just happened.

Your eyes widen as he licks his lips, lust still burning in his eyes as he takes in your panting form and swollen, red lips. A trickle of blood drips from your mouth after he bit into it a few minutes ago. As you taste your blood on your tongue, you realise the terrifying truth.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen desired you.

Feyd strokes your neck, which is still in his tight grip. His eyes travel from your lips to your neck, to your collarbones, to the valley of your breasts, and to your hips, which were starting to bruise from how tightly he held them in the moments before your fight. Suddenly, everything starts to fall into place for you. His strange, unusual behaviour, the flirtatious comments, the long stares, and his more frequent attempts to hold you close to him and touch your exposed skin are starting to make sense.

You were screwed.

Completely and utterly fucked up.

You've been avoiding him since that night. More than any Reverend Mother or Bene Gesserit. Which was a very difficult task, considering how many things you had to do as his right hand.

But, luckily, you managed to avoid being alone with him. Of course, it couldn't last long. You knew him very well, and you knew that eventually he would try something and come for you. But you tried to deceive yourself by living the lie that his desire would pass and his concubines would effectively take care of him.

If he noticed your attempts to stay away from him, he never mentioned it. Of course, he chased after you when he saw you walking alone down the hall, but you never gave him a chance to catch up with you. He may have grown up here, but you knew the palace like the back of your hand. And all the nooks and crannies you could hide in from him.

So you actually managed not to get close to him for a very long time. Until it was time to train a unit of soldiers directly subordinate to him.

"Y/N!!!" You're sure all of Giedi Prime could have heard his scream. You sigh, calming down as you continue your walk to the arena. You step out into the black sun, carefully watching the men training. You walk up to him and bow to him.

"My lord na-baron." You say it politely, unfazed by the fact that he's practically seething with rage. You were more used to dealing with him like this than when he was horny... or worse, kind. You would turn on your shield if you knew it wouldn't make him fall over the edge and start murdering everyone he could.

"Take your blade. None of these piles of useless muscles know basic defensive moves. Look, you all! You have to learn this by the end of the day, or next time you will enter this arena as my opponent!" He walks over to one of them, probably to either stab him or adjust his position, leaving you to get ready. You tie your hair up so it doesn't bother you during a fight and choose your blade.

You gasp in surprise when you are suddenly pushed. You turn around quickly, trying to keep your balance as you face the na-baron. You move your hand to activate your shield, but his voice stops you:

"Don't. I have to show them how to do it. No shield." You know he's lying, and that's not why he doesn't want you to turn on your shield, but you don't say anything. You just nod and prepare to get into a defensive position.

He attacks you quickly. Very quickly. You've trained with him before, and you have to admit, he's never been this… brutal with you.

You go through different positions with him until you finally stop following the textbook fighting patterns and start fighting seriously. You keep up with his movements for a long time, blocking his blade with yours and dodging attacks that you have no physical ability to block, but he keeps pressing against you, not letting you rest or trying to return the favour with one of your attacks.

You gasp in surprise when he trips you, sending you to the ground. You block his swing at you with your blade and kneel in the sand, trying to get up, but he's pressing too hard against you with his sword for you to move. You use all your strength to push him away from you. Feyd growls, throwing his sword aside, and simply lunges at you. You're too shocked to do anything as he snatches the blade from your hand and sits on top of you.

You fight him, sending both of you rolling in the sand. Eventually, he gets impatient and wraps his hand around your throat. You take a hoarse breath as he blocks your airway. You grab his hand around your neck and try to pull it away. You dig your nails into his palm, but he remains unmoved, pinning you to the sand.

He leans closer to you, and you take the opportunity to wrap your hand around his neck. He laughs, showing you his black teeth as he practically lays on top of you. His erection presses hard against your thigh as he grinds against you, grunting as he too begins to feel the need for air... and something more. You see black spots in front of your eyes, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to breathe.

You let go of his neck completely, your hand falling next to your head, and you desperately try to use the remaining air to try and use your Bene Gesserit voice on him. But before you try to say anything, he loosens his grip so you can breathe, but his fingers are still lightly holding your neck.

Too busy breathing, you don't notice how he tilts his face towards you. Only when you feel his tongue on your neck do you realise how close he is to you. You freeze when he runs his tongue from your neck, from jaw to cheek, to taste your tears. You hear him moan softly. To confirm that your brain, stunned by lack of oxygen, didn't make it all up on its own, he rubs against you, and his hardness in his pants is clearly felt by you.

You just fucking hope he doesn't fuck you in front of those soldiers.

You meet his black eyes with yours. You shiver as he leans in, his bare chest pressed completely against you as he whispers into your ear.

"Damn you, witch... if you taste as sweet as your tears..." He growls. You feel dizzy, and you're not sure if it's because of the heat of the moment, the fact that he cut you off from oxygen for a while, or because you're overwhelmed by his scent and the warmth that radiates from the two of you.

You thank whoever is above you as he finally pulls away from you and stands up. He gives you his hand and helps you stand on your two feet. The soldiers obediently look at the ground, not daring to face the na-baron's gaze. You swallow hard, pulling your hand from his grasp.

Feyd barks orders at them, herding them back to training. You breathe a sigh of relief when he stops paying attention to you. You use your shawl to wipe his saliva and your sweat from your neck. You take your blade and are about to leave the arena to do the rest of your duties. But a tight grip on your wrist stops you. You tense up and turn around to face him again.

"Y/N." He murmurs, watching you carefully. You're sure that bruises are starting to appear on your neck from his tight squeeze. "Come to my chambers tonight." A cold shiver runs through you, but all you can do is nod and watch his retreating figure as he leaves to continue the training.

You hoped he didn't mean what you thought he meant by that... invitation. Otherwise, this could be your last night on Giedi Prime or the last night of your life. You're not sure yet.

For the first time, you feel fear as you walk to his chambers. He had called for you at such times before, but it never occurred to you that he wanted to do with you something else than discuss with you matters that were related to the Giedi Prime Court, the baron's plans, or other political matters and plots.

You shudder, wondering what might be waiting behind that door. You saw the condition in which some of his concubines left him. You didn't want to become one of them; you didn't want to be reduced to being his lover. It was fine as it was. You felt very good as his shadow, ears, and eyes. You liked conspiring together with him, making plans, and that hrill each time you managed to take down the enemies that were standing in your way. He was supposed to be your savior, not your persecutor. Were you that naive from the beginning, or has everything started going to shit recently?

The guards let you through without saying a word. With your heart pounding, you enter his chambers.

He's sitting on the bed. His harpies finish taking off his clothes, and at first you want to back away, but as soon as his gaze meets yours, you freeze. Feyd snaps at one of them. She hands him a glass of his wine while the others look at you furiously.

"Leave." He tells them, never taking his eyes off you. The women look at each other, not wanting to leave him, especially leave him alone with you. You guess that if it weren't for Feyd's presence, they would have attacked you long ago, trying to eat you before their master got a chance to touch you. Disgust arouses in you as you think that you may be soon reduced to their role and turned into one of them. "I said something." He growls at them, shifting his gaze from you to give them an angry glare.

The harpies are going out obediently, but they are not wasting an opportunity to hiss at you as they pass you to get to the exit. You hear one of them scream in pain as Feyd suddenly throws a knife at them right before they close the door behind them.

You were more used to his brutal reflexes than to his tender gestures. You actually preferred him being aggressive more. At least you could have predicted his movement. That's why you didn't even blink when he threw a blade at his pets.

"You wanted to see me." You start when you are alone. If you could impress him with anything other than your fighting skills and the ability to obtain various information by staying in the shadows, it would be that you never showed fear or insecurity. At least not to those who don't know you. Almost no one could read you. Almost.

However, Feyd saw that you were behaving differently. But he was tired of controlling himself around you. He couldn't do it anymore after tasting your lips, tasting your skin mixed with tears, and feeling your curves press against him. He wanted more. Much more than he ever got from you. And he was going to take it, whether you wanted it or not. He won't go crazy with lust for you... or at least not with as much longing for you each night as he used to.

"I did..." He stands up, and you're grateful he's at least wearing underwear as he walks over to his bar and pours a second glass of wine. He hands it to you and taps it with his own. He takes a few sips and looks at you. After a while, he sits down on his bed again and swirls his glass, playing with the remains of the wine. "Baron wants me to find a wife." He announces calmly, staring at you intently as he finishes his wine with one big sip.

You almost choke on your drink. You place your glass on the table and meet the careful gaze of his cold, blue eyes. You feel yourself starting to get hot with nerves.

"I beg you pardon?" You ask, still reeling from the shock of this sudden information.

"He wants me to find a broodmare who will bear my heirs since I am getting close to the appropriate age." He repeats, standing up gracefully. He approaches you, his steps slow and measured, as if he were approaching his prey in an arena. And for a moment, that's exactly how you feel. But you show no fear or any other emotion as he stops a few inches in front of you. You straighten up, your muscles tensing as you think about any answer.

"I… I can make the necessary preparations and check which high families…"

"Strip." He orders you. His tone is hoarse, leaving no room for any objection. He talks just as if he were asking you to pass him the dagger rather than to stand naked in front of him. As if it was an order he carried out every day and something you should be used to following.

"What?" You ask stupidly, unable to process what he said to you in your head.

"Have you gone deaf? Undress. Take your clothes off." He repeats mockingly. He crosses his arms, takes a few steps back, and leans against the wooden post of his bed as he watches you carefully, waiting for you to either obey his order or openly disobey him, giving him the opportunity to punish you... as if he even needed a reason to do so.

"My na-baron, I..."

"Exactly, Y/N. I am your na-baron. So follow my order. Now. I'm not in the mood for our games. You think I haven't noticed you've been playing hide-and-seek lately? I have given much worse punishments for such disobedience and attempts at self-indulgence. Take your clothes off, or I'll rip them from you."

For a moment, there is a deathly silence in his chambers. Only your breathing can be heard as you try to find any way out of this situation. But you can't think of anything. Your mind is empty, your hands are shaking a little, and all you can do is look at him, silently begging him to change his mind. A frown of impatience appears on his forehead, and you know you have to do something before he gets irritated and cuts you with one of his blades.

You sigh softly as you reach for the laces of your shirt. You take your time, slowly untying your bindings. Feyd devours every bit of skin you expose to him, and you swear you hear him hold his breath as your shirt lands on the floor. You get out of your shoes and socks very slowly.

Luckily, he doesn't comment on it and lets you get out of his clothes at your own pace. He knows he will win anyway. Tonight, he will finally stop playing cat and mouse with you and put his hands on what is rightfully his. So he savours every moment, making a plan in his head for what he will do to you tonight for this small act of rebellion.

He licks his lips as you stand in front of him in nothing but black underwear. His eyes take in your every curve, skin lesions, and scars that mark your warrior body. Oh yes. He was going to enjoy this night and finally unwrap his early birthday present.

"Good girl. You know where the bathroom is, right?" Without waiting for your response, he goes there, expecting you to follow him.

You swallow hard. You're glad that at least you managed to stay in your underwear and that you're not completely naked in front of him. You get out of your pile of clothes and leisurely follow him to the bathroom.

As soon as you enter, the door closes itself behind you. You sigh, the sweet smell of bath salts reaching your nostrils. But you don't feel so relaxed when the coolness of the bathroom and the black marble you stand barefoot on make you shiver and your nipples harden.

The na-baron's dark chuckle catches your attention. He's in a large, black bathtub, his hands resting on its edges as he enjoys the warm water, watching you closely, a spark of amusement shining in his icy blue eyes. He looks like a vulture waiting for the best moment to kill his prey.

"It had been a long day. Join me." He says, lifting his hand for you to take and step into the tub.

Having no choice, you obediently reach for his hand and release it as quickly as you can, sitting on the other side of the bathtub with your legs tucked under you so as not to accidentally touch him. He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

"Not so far, my little mouse. Closer. I won't bite… well, not yet."

"I'm not a mouse." You snap at him. If you're going to die, at least die with dignity. Blinded by your anger at him, you sit on his lap before you can think it through. It's only his hardness pressing against your ass that makes you realize what a mistake you've made. You don't show your discomfort, though; you even lean against his chest, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around you just as the skin of your back meets his chest. You feel like you're in a cage, even though he's trying to calm you down by lazily drawing patterns on the skin of your arms. Your underwear soaks up the water and sticks to you, making you feel even more uncomfortable.

"Hand me my dagger."

You much prefer receiving such orders from him. You get up from the bathtub to get away from him for a moment, but he stops you by grabbing your hips tightly. He shakes his head and nods towards the dagger, which is literally at his fingertips. You bite your lip, keeping yourself from talking back at him, and reach for the weapon, handing it to him. You do this carefully, not wanting to cut the skin of your fingertips with the very sharp blade.

He cuts through the fabric of your bra with surgical grace. You gasp in outrage but don't move, knowing full well that you are only millimetres away from him taking your blood. You don't have to turn around to know he's smiling cockily as he traces the tip of his dagger across your skin to your panties.

"You know I can take it off by myself?" You ask as he traces patterns with the tip of his dagger on your stomach, around your navel. You hold your breath as he rests his chin on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him, rubbing against your still-clothed ass. You learn the hard way that the rumours about his... greatness were true.

"You had your chance at the beginning, now it's my turn. You're lucky that I'm not taking it off of you with my teeth anyway." He growls in your ear. You shiver as he presses a wet kiss on your shoulder, peppering kisses on your skin, down to your neck, and down to your jawbone before he rests his chin on your shoulder again.

"Sorry for interrupting your fun, my na-baron." You growl as he hooks the tip of his dagger against the fabric of your panties.

"No worries; you will compensate me in another way." He says, cutting your panties. He throws them behind him and lazily presses the dagger against your jawbone, forcing you to turn your head to look at him.

You meet his blue eyes with yours. His irises are practically non-existent, giving way entirely to his dilated, black pupils. He stares at you hungrily, licking his lips. He looks lost and indecisive, as if he didn't know what to do first.

His other hand, the one not holding the dagger pressed against your neck and jaw, explores your body, caressing your skin as if it were some kind of precious silk. You sigh as he cups your breast, which, of course, fits perfectly in his hand. You want to punch him in the face, but the dagger at your throat reminds you that one wrong move could cost you dearly. So you take his hand in yours instead, stopping him from over-exploring.

"You know... I tried to stay away from you. From the first moment I saw you... fighting with those daggers of yours... you're not as graceful in dancing as you are with them in your hands, taking down all your enemies. But you are Bene Gesserit. I know you're dangerous. So damn dangerous... if I were anyone else, you'd use your voice on me and tell me to castrate myself. Or you could make me magically disappear by throwing myself off some tall tower just because I thwarted your plans or looked at you wrong. Surprised? You may live in the shadows, my little witch, but I won't miss anything you do. You know I have trouble controlling myself... so how can I do that when you're so damn irresistible? The fact that I've endured all these years and not gotten close to you the way I wanted—the way I dreamed so many times at night—is quite a success, don't you think?"

He massages your breast, playing with it. You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he pinches your nipple. He leans closer to you, pressing his nose against your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. He removes his hand from your breast and moves your connected body along your body. You gasp, tightening your grip on his as he brushes your clit gently with his fingertip.

"I… I should go." You mumble, squirming in his grip, which is, of course, pointless and only makes him groan in pleasure as your ass rubs against his hard, leaking member.

"Stay. You won't oppose your na-baron, will you?" The bastard knows well that you won't openly oppose him, and he uses it as best he can. He moves your joined hands to his length, forcing you to wrap your hand around him. He hisses, pressing the blade closer to your throat and tightening his grip on your hand as he guides yours along his length the way he wants. "Your skin is so soft… and that beautiful hair that you needlessly hide… you don't know how many times I imagined pulling you by it." He mumbles into your neck. The hand with the dagger now presses against your chest, only causing your heart to beat much faster. A wave of heat washes over you, your traitorous pussy clenching desperately as you hear his moans in your ear.

"Feyd..." You moan as his hand releases yours and works at your desperate pussy. He growls, feeling the warmth of your walls around his fingers and the wetness he caused. You remove your hand from his member and tighten your grip on his hand, trying to push him away from your private parts in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

"Don't fight. Just give yourself to me, Y/N. Let me show you how much you've lost while trying to hide yourself from me in your shadows…" He growls, pressing the tip of the dagger to your nipple. You freeze, moaning as he becomes stiffened by the sheer movement of his blade.

He bites into your neck, making you moan loudly and throwing your head back. He licks and sucks your neck, rubbing his painfully hard cock against your pussy. The water splashes around you, some of it spilling out of the tub due to his sudden movements. A few inches deeper, and he would have slammed into you, bisecting you with his huge cock, which stood ready for you from the moment he saw you in your underwear.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel what you're doing to me? How hard I am because of you? It's like this every time you hand me my blade, perfectly balanced and sharpened, every time you meet all my needs without even communicating with me, you just know what I want by looking at me, my little witch. So tell me, who is a better partner for me than my right hand? Who can I trust more than you? Who should I fuck, full of my heirs, if not you?"

You don't respond; you can't find any words as your brain desperately tries to shout out the pleasure he's giving you and force you to resist him. Unsuccessfully. The warmth of the water, his body, his scent, and his precise, deliberate movements cut off your thoughts. Feyd is practically salivating at the sight of you so lost in lust and desire as he witnesses you lose control for the first time.

He throws away the dagger, which falls with a crash onto the marble floor. Neither of you care as he grabs your hips and, in one smooth, quick movement, turns you around so you can face him.

You only have time to draw in a quick breath before he demands your mouth. You moan into his lips as he kisses you with the same passion and intensity as he did a few weeks ago at the party after you won the fight. You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tightly, placing his hands on your back as he presses you against him. You don't stand a chance against his strength. You can resist him, but you know it won't be long before you collapse from exhaustion. You bite his lip until you draw blood, which only causes him to groan and have him grind against you, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

You gasp as he leaves your lips for a while and pulls your hair, exposing your throat to him so he can mark it even more. He sucks on your skin, littering it with hickeys as you feel him slowly move, positioning himself beneath you so that his member presses against the entrance of your pussy.

And just as he's about to join your bodies, to make you two one, to feel your hot, wet, tight walls around him, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

This time, he's the one who freezes, tightening his hold on you. You feel like he's making sure he hasn't misheard or imagined it in this heated moment between you, but when the knocking sounds a second time, he realises it's real.

You pray with gratitude for the soul of the fool who dared to interrupt him, because you know that even if it were something important, he would not live to see the morning.

"What?!" He growls furiously, not letting you go, not letting you move an inch from him, still believing that he can quickly get rid of the intruder and go back to ravaging you, maybe even fucking you while he talks to whoever is standing in front of that damned door. Though Feyd preferred to be fully focused on you when he took you for the first time. However, he was convinced that if he didn't feel you around him soon, he would go crazy. He is so close... all he had to do was push a little more...

"My lord na-baron. The Baron wants to see you. It's very important."

You see pure rage bubbling in his eyes. He growls, shifting you from his lap as he stands up. You look down as you see all of him very clearly, especially what you were exposed to a few moments ago. He throws a towel at you, and you automatically catch it. He wraps one around his waist before he comes back to you again and grabs your throat. He gives you a crazy, passionate kiss, stroking your neck and appreciating the marks he made before pulling away from you.

"We'll come back to it, little witch." He leaves you with that promise, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You hear him shouting something at his harpies, and you shudder at the thought of having to walk past them to get out of here. You lean back against the tub, still sitting in the now-cold water, as you slowly process everything that happened.

You succeeded this time, but you know you won't be so lucky next time. You could either accept... your new responsibilities and his expectations of you, or you could try to break free from him, risking your life.

It was a decision to be made in the privacy of your own chambers. For now, you let yourself lie in the cool water, fully aware that if you weren't interrupted now, he would fuck you silly, likely planting his seed inside you.

You ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be a whore, a vessel for their crazy breeding plan. Apparently, you just changed the owner of your womb. You had to do something if you didn't want to end up as originally intended—as the mother of the future Kwisatz Haderach.

[youaintnothinbuta]

“Did you cum without me?” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: Feyd Rautha, your husband, knows you very very well. He knows what your sex smells like, and he’s not pleased when he can sense it on you despite not having seen you at all that day. He reminds you that you aren’t to touch yourself, and that making you cum is his job

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, unprotected sex, p in v, masturbation insinuated, squirting depicted, probably typos sorrryyyy

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Feyd stirred from slumber before you as always, a habitual gesture that allowed you the luxury of lingering in bed as long as you pleased. However, you didn’t see him at breakfast either, hinting at his preoccupation with Na-Baron duties.

All day you found yourself restless and bored, ennui gnawing at you, more than ever typical. You even spent almost two hours in the bath, just trying to make time pass. Spending hours and hours alone, your mind started to wander. Your hands followed suit. You found yourself lying in your’s and Feyd’s shared bed, writhing beneath your own touch. You laid on his side of the bed, his smell helping feed your fantasies as you succumbed to orgasm by your self indulgence. And, once not being enough, for a second time.

Only minutes later you peeled yourself up off the bed, washed your hands, and were once again making your way aimlessly through the Harkonnen residence. To your delight, you heard your husband’s voice resonating through a nearby hallway, and quickly made that your destination. He smiled as he saw you, reaching out for your hand briefly, to acknowledge that he hadn’t seen you all day. As you passed him, he turned his head, inhaling deeply. You continued walking, but he quickly grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

He pulled you closer, his face just inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath against your skin as he sniffed your skin. Suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes narrowing.

“Did you cum without me?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.

“No,” you lied, trying to pull away from his grasp. But he was too strong. A growl rumbled from deep within him, a reaction to your lie. He could smell you. Harkonnen men were surprisingly gentlemanly and yet so, so primal in nature. The scent of your orgasm on your skin was certainly not one unfamiliar to him.

“Then you won't be too sensitive to cum right now,” he growled, his hand already making its way between your thighs. The men he was talking to quickly took their cue to leave, leaving you alone in the hallway.

You tried to protest, but it was too late. He had already pushed your skirt up and was fingering you roughly. You could feel your clit swelling and becoming sensitive, but he didn't seem to care.

“Push through it,” he commanded, his voice laced with possessiveness, his fingers moving faster and faster. You did as you were told, biting your lip to keep from crying out. But it hurt, and you couldn't help but squirm under his touch.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

With his right hand still playing with your pussy, he used his left to flick his belt undone. One handedly, he freed his already hard cock from his pants, lining himself up at your entrance.

His arms snaked around your waist, holding your body flush against his as he slowly pressed himself inside of you. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him finally filling you up, like that itch was finally being scratched. He gripped you by the jaw, pulling out of you softly before slamming back into you.

“I make you cum,” he growled, “Me. Not you.”

“Understand?” He barked, pounding another hard thrust into you.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, watching as he clenched his jaw in pleasure.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Yes, Feyd. You make me cum. Only you.”

“Good, darling, good,” he purred, lightly circling your clit with his thumb as he continued to fuck you, there, standing in the corridor.

His grip on your jaw eased, you took the opportunity to press your lips to his, in a burning kiss. You descended into a mess of moans and whimpers as he softly pressed his tongue into your mouth. His hips started to lose rhythm, your noises helping draw him closer to orgasm. He focused his attention on his thumb, rubbing your clit with the perfect pressure and pattern he'd come to learn so well for you.

“That's it,” he whispered to you. “Come for me.” And you did. With a scream he loved so very much, a gush of liquid spilled out of you. Marvelling at the sight in front of him, he continued to work your clit, watching as your squirt continued to stream from between your legs, his pants and boots sprayed with it, a puddle around both of your feet. Never having felt an orgasm so strong, your body threatened to give out as you shook and moaned, letting the last lingering bits of your orgasm out.

His strong arms held you up, as he continued thrusting. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, and with a low, strung out grunt, he spilled his black seed into you, fucking it as far into your pussy as he could. You clenched your walls around him the way he liked, milking him for all he was worth.

He pressed his forehead to yours, catching his breath. “Mine, darling,” he mumbled, slowly pulling himself out of you.

“Yours, Feyd.” You whispered, also still panting. Feyd looked at you, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction, an expression he had reserved for you alone.

“It is my job to make you cum. You do not take that away from me, do you understand?” He reminded you.

“Yes.” You nodded as he cupped your face in his hands.

“Good,” he kissed your cheek, “look at the mess you've made.” Your eyes fell to the floor, you blushed as you noticed the puddle you stood in.

“Go, get dressed for supper.” Even when he spoke softly there was still that harsh rumble in his voice. You obliged, heading back to your chambers.

At the dinner table, you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love you,” you whispered in his ear, feeling his muscles flex in reaction to your voice.

He turned to face you, his eyes dark with desire. “I love you too,” he said, before standing up to pull your chair out for you to sit beside him.

A/N it’s currently 1am I got home from seeing dune part 2 about an hour ago but I absolutely couldn’t go to sleep without giving y’all something ;))

[andy-15-07]

A Father's Pride

masterlist ! pairing Feyd-Rautha x reader

SUMMARY : feyd rautha watches how Y/n plays with their child and hears her telling him about their relationship

DUNE Masterlist

Feyd Rautha watched from the doorway, a proud smile tugging at his lips as he observed his wife, Y/n, playing with their young child in the living room. The room was filled with the sound of their child's delighted laughter as Y/n tickled and chased them around the room, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"You're getting faster, little one!" Y/n exclaimed, her voice filled with affection as she scooped up their giggling child in her arms.

Feyd's heart swelled with love as he watched the tender moment between mother and child. He stepped into the room, his presence unnoticed as Y/n continued to play with their child, completely absorbed in the moment.

"You're such a good mother," Feyd murmured, his voice soft with admiration.

Y/n looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes as she saw her husband standing there. A warm smile spread across her face as she approached him, their child still cradled in her arms.

"Feyd, I didn't hear you come in," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Did you want to join us?"

Feyd nodded, his gaze lingering on their child. "I just wanted to watch for a moment. You two seem to be having so much fun."

Y/n grinned, bouncing their child gently in her arms. "We are. But it's even better when you're here with us."

Feyd's heart swelled with love at her words. He had never imagined he could be so lucky as to have Y/n as his wife and the mother of his child. As they settled down on the couch together, their child nestled between them, Y/n leaned her head against Feyd's shoulder.

"Remember when we first met?" Y/n asked, her voice filled with nostalgia.

Feyd nodded, a fond smile playing on his lips. "How could I forget? You captured my heart from the moment I saw you."

Y/n chuckled, her fingers tracing circles on their child's back. "And you swept me off my feet with your charm and wit."

They reminisced about their early days together, sharing stories of their courtship and the adventures they had shared. Feyd couldn't help but marvel at how far they had come since then—from two strangers brought together by chance to a family bound by love.

"You've given me everything I ever dreamed of and more," Feyd said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with love. "And you've given me a life I never could have imagined. I'm grateful for every moment we've shared together."

Their child yawned, snuggling closer to them as they settled down for the night. Feyd pressed a kiss to Y/n's forehead, feeling grateful for the love and happiness they had found together.

"I love you, Y/n," Feyd whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n leaned into his embrace, her heart overflowing with love. "I love you too, Feyd. More than words can express."

As they sat there together, surrounded by the warmth and love of their family, Feyd felt a sense of peace wash over him. In that moment, he knew that no matter what trials they faced in the future, as long as they were together, they could overcome anything.

And as their child drifted off to sleep in their arms, Feyd couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the precious gift of family that he held in his arms—a gift that he would cherish for the rest of his days.

[austinswife]

‘DUNE 3’ AND BABY BUMP — Austin Butler

SYPNOSIS: Austin Butler and his wife, Y/N, have just wrapped filming on Dune 3 together, where they played intense and compelling roles—Austin as the menacing Feyd Rautha, and Y/N as one of his captivating consorts. The two, now parents to their newborn daughter Wren, join The Graham Norton Show alongside Dune producer Barbara Sanderson to discuss their experience making the movie. As they reveal intimate behind-the-scenes moments, including how Y/N filmed while pregnant and concealed her growing bump, the conversation takes a funny and heartfelt turn. Between Austin’s protective instincts on set, the crew’s humorous attempts to safeguard the baby bump, and the secret they kept from their fans, the interview showcases the couple’s love, their chemistry, and the unforgettable memories they made while working together.

WARNING(S): Mentions of pregnancy, humor and lighthearted conversations, discussions of intimate scenes in a playful way, fluff.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

divider by @/chilumitos

The soft hum of excited chatter filled the studio of The Graham Norton Show as the audience eagerly awaited the next segment. It was a particularly star-studded episode, featuring the much-anticipated stars of Dune 3. As the cameras prepared to roll, Graham himself sat ready at his desk, glancing through his notes and smiling at the mention of the guests he would soon welcome to the stage. He knew this was going to be a fun interview—he could feel it.

“And now,” Graham said with his trademark charm as the show returned from its commercial break, “please give a warm welcome to the stars of Dune 3—Austin Butler, Y/N Y/L/N, and the producer of the Dune series, Barbara Sanderson!”

The applause erupted as Austin, dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored black suit, walked hand in hand with you, his wife and co-star, Y/N. You radiated elegance in a soft, flowy dress that accentuated your post-pregnancy glow. Behind you, Barbara Sanderson, the producer, strode confidently onto the stage, smiling broadly at the adoring crowd.

Once the three of you were seated on the famous red couch, Graham leaned in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, look at you two! Fresh from the intergalactic battles of Dune 3 and straight into parenthood. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, Wren Butler!”

The applause filled the room once again as you and Austin exchanged a warm look, his hand gently squeezing yours.

“Thank you so much,” you said, beaming. “She’s been an absolute joy, and we’re really loving being new parents.”

Austin nodded in agreement, his face lighting up at the mention of Wren. “Yeah, it’s been incredible. She’s such a sweet baby.”

Graham leaned forward with that ever-curious expression, already knowing the direction he wanted to take the conversation.

“Now, I have to ask—Dune 3 is quite an intense film. I mean, it’s the culmination of this epic sci-fi saga, and the two of you play some pretty heavy roles. Austin, you’re Feyd Rautha, the ruthless antagonist, and Y/N, you’re one of his darlings. There are some... well, let’s call them intimate scenes between the two of you, aren’t there?”

The audience chuckled as Austin smirked, his hand still resting protectively on your knee. You shared a quick glance with him, both of you clearly in on the joke.

“Oh yeah,” Austin drawled, flashing that signature half-smile of his. “Feyd Rautha doesn’t do subtle.”

Graham laughed and nodded. “No, I don’t think subtle is in his vocabulary. But there’s been a lot of speculation, Y/N, because—correct me if I’m wrong—were you actually pregnant while filming those scenes?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the question hung in the air, and the audience collectively leaned forward in their seats. You grinned, glancing at Austin for a beat before answering.

“Yes, it’s true—I was pregnant while filming Dune 3,” you admitted, laughing softly as the crowd gasped in surprise. “In fact, I found out early on, but I was lucky because my bump didn’t really show much until I was about eight or nine months pregnant. So by the time we were filming those scenes, I had a tiny bump, but only Austin and the crew knew!”

The audience erupted into laughter and applause, clearly charmed by your candid admission. Graham’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued.

“So let me get this straight—you were filming these intense, steamy scenes with Feyd Rautha while pregnant with Austin’s baby?”

You nodded, laughing even harder. “Yep! I was carrying his baby the whole time during that scene where I’m, well... not wearing much. Talk about method acting!”

Austin, trying to hold back his laughter, chimed in. “Yeah, it was pretty surreal, to be honest. We’d be in the middle of a scene where I’m supposed to be all intense and villainous, and then as soon as they called ‘cut,’ I’d go straight into husband mode—‘Are you okay? Do you need anything? How’s the baby?’”

The audience burst into laughter again as you playfully nudged Austin, smiling affectionately. “He was the most overprotective co-star I’ve ever had,” you teased. “But honestly, it was really sweet. He and the entire crew were so supportive. I felt like I had a whole army of people making sure I was comfortable.”

Barbara Sanderson, the producer, who had been quietly enjoying the banter so far, spoke up with a fond smile. “I think it’s safe to say that once we found out Y/N was pregnant, the entire atmosphere on set shifted. Everyone became so protective of her. I remember one day when we were filming a particularly physical scene, and I swear, at least five people rushed to her side with pillows and blankets the moment we finished shooting.”

Graham’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Pillows and blankets on a Dune set? Sounds like a far cry from the sandworms and desert storms of Arrakis!”

You laughed, nodding. “It was so funny! I felt like I was wrapped in bubble wrap half the time. And the funny part is that I felt completely fine—like, I wasn’t really showing much, and I wasn’t feeling sick or anything, but everyone was treating me like I was about to go into labor at any moment.”

Austin grinned, clearly loving the memory. “Yeah, I remember one scene where you had to lie down on this really uncomfortable-looking floor, and before I could even say anything, someone was already there with a pillow, fluffing it up for you. It was like, ‘Alright, guys, she’s tough—she can handle it.’”

Barbara laughed, nodding in agreement. “We did get a little overzealous, I’ll admit. But when your co-star is carrying a baby, you do tend to get a bit overprotective!”

Graham leaned back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. “So, Austin, how was it for you knowing that your co-star—who also happens to be your wife—was pregnant with your child during these scenes? Was it difficult to stay in character?”

Austin scratched the back of his neck, a playful grin crossing his face. “Well, let’s just say it added a whole new layer to things. I mean, there’s Feyd Rautha—this brutal, ambitious character—and then there’s me, Austin, who’s just trying to make sure my wife and our baby are okay. So yeah, it was definitely a bit of a challenge to switch back and forth.”

The audience chuckled at his honesty, and Graham leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I can only imagine! And I have to ask, did the fans pick up on any of this? Because if your bump wasn’t really showing until later, I imagine it must have been quite the surprise when you finally announced your pregnancy.”

You nodded, a knowing smile on your lips. “Yeah, we managed to keep it pretty low-key. I think most fans didn’t notice anything at all. I wore a lot of loose costumes, and the camera angles were really clever. It wasn’t until after filming wrapped, and we announced Wren’s birth, that people were like, ‘Wait, you were pregnant during all of that?!’”

Graham shook his head in disbelief. “Incredible. And now you’ve got a beautiful daughter. How is Wren doing?”

Austin’s expression softened immediately at the mention of his daughter. “She’s amazing. She’s the happiest little baby, always smiling. We feel really lucky.”

“She’s been a dream,” you added, your voice full of warmth. “And we’re just so grateful for how everything worked out. Filming Dune 3 while pregnant was definitely a unique experience, but now that we have Wren, it all feels even more special.”

Graham smiled, clearly touched by the couple’s love for their daughter. “Well, it sounds like a labor of love—no pun intended.”

The audience laughed again, and Graham leaned in with a teasing glint in his eye. “Before we wrap things up, I have one more question, because the Dune fans will absolutely want to know—were you ever shy filming those intimate scenes with Feyd Rautha, knowing you were pregnant?”

Y/N smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Shy? Not at all! I mean, I was literally pregnant with his baby while filming those scenes. By that point, I was more worried about not tripping over cables on set or staying awake between takes."

The audience erupted in laughter, their amusement filling the room. Austin grinned, his arm draped comfortably behind you as he chuckled.

"Yeah, when you're both trying to stay in character and simultaneously making sure you're not stepping on your wife's dress or her tiny baby bump, 'shyness' kind of takes a backseat."

Graham, always quick to lean into the humor, smiled wide. "It does add a whole new dimension to 'intimate scenes,' doesn’t it?"

Barbara, who had been watching with an amused expression, nodded. "Oh, absolutely. I remember one of the costume designers coming up to me, stressing about how to hide the bump, and I just said, 'Embrace it. If anyone asks, we’ll say it’s all part of the world-building.’"

The audience roared with laughter, and you chimed in, still laughing. "Honestly, the bump was so small that for most of the filming, it was our little secret. But by the end, I think some people on set were like, 'Wait a minute...'"

Austin playfully nudged you, shaking his head. "It’s amazing how you kept it under wraps for so long. By the time your bump did start to show, it was like an Easter egg for the crew. Everyone was tiptoeing around it."

Graham leaned forward, still grinning. "So the fans were completely in the dark until you announced Wren’s birth?"

"Pretty much," you confirmed. "We didn’t want to make a big public announcement during filming. It was such a special time for us, and we really just wanted to keep it between us and our closest friends and family."

Graham nodded, clearly touched. "It sounds like you handled it beautifully. And I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s wonderful to see you two sharing this moment, both in your careers and in your lives together."

The audience applauded again, the warmth in the room palpable. Austin turned to you with a soft smile, his hand gently squeezing yours as he spoke. "It’s been an amazing journey, both in terms of Dune 3 and our life as a family. We feel really lucky."

You smiled back at him, your heart full as you took in the supportive energy of the room. "We do. And honestly, Wren’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. She arrived right after we finished filming, like she was waiting for her cue."

Graham laughed, clapping his hands together. "A born performer already! Watch out, Hollywood!"

The light-heartedness of the moment allowed everyone to bask in the happiness that radiated from the two of you. Even Barbara, normally so focused and professional, seemed to be swept up in the magic of the interview. "It’s rare to have this kind of chemistry on set," she said thoughtfully. "Austin and Y/N brought so much more to their roles than just acting. There was a real connection, and I think it showed in every scene."

Graham glanced between you and Austin, raising an eyebrow. "Speaking of chemistry, what’s it like acting opposite your husband in a movie like Dune? Is it hard to separate the personal from the professional?"

You laughed lightly, tilting your head toward Austin. "Honestly? Sometimes yes, and sometimes no. There were moments where it was challenging to stay in character, especially when he’d shoot me a look, and I’d know exactly what he was thinking, which usually had nothing to do with the scene."

Austin chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it definitely keeps things interesting. You’ll be in the middle of this intense, dramatic moment, and then one of us will break character for a split second, and it’s hard not to laugh. But I think, ultimately, working together was really rewarding. We pushed each other in ways I don’t think we would have with anyone else."

Graham smiled warmly, clearly charmed by the dynamic between the two of you. "It sounds like a real partnership, both on and off screen."

"It really is," you said softly. "We’ve always supported each other’s careers, and Dune 3 gave us the chance to take that support to a whole new level. Filming while pregnant, working through those intense scenes together—it’s all made us stronger as a couple and as parents."

Austin nodded, his expression filled with pride. "Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together, and this experience just solidified how much we’ve got each other’s backs."

Graham looked genuinely moved. "That’s beautiful. And now you’ve got Wren, this incredible new chapter in your lives. What’s next for you both? More movies together? More babies?"

The audience laughed, and you couldn’t help but join in. "Well, we’re definitely taking some time off to focus on Wren right now. But who knows? If the right project comes along, we might just team up again. As for more babies..." You glanced at Austin with a playful smile. "We’ll see!"

Austin grinned, raising his eyebrows mischievously. "One day at a time, Graham."

Graham shook his head, laughing. "Well, whatever the future holds, I’m sure it’s going to be amazing. Thank you both so much for sharing your story, and congratulations again on Wren and the success of Dune 3."

As the audience clapped and the lights dimmed for the final moments of the segment, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Sitting there with Austin, reflecting on the incredible journey you’d shared, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something even greater.

As you left the stage, Austin’s arm wrapped around your waist, you exchanged a look that said more than words ever could. From co-stars to husband and wife, from actors to parents, your shared adventure was far from over. Whether on-screen or off, you knew that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

And as for Wren? Well, maybe one day, she'd get her own starring role.

part 2? maybe

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[anjelicawrites]

Homophrosyne

Paring: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader Synopsis: homophrosyne: a thinking and knowledge that is shared between two people. When your soulmate decides to come after you, you try to escape him. Too bad he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, he’s never going to give you up. Warnings: blink and miss reference to the Baron’s abuse of Feyd, blink and miss reference to Feyd killing his mother, soulmate bonding considered as a curse, Feyd being very done and also horny, Feyd’s fascination with reader’s hair and body hair, switch!Feyd, switch!reader, attempted murder (not from Feyd to reader), murder, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, titty sucking, biting, blood licking, overstimulation, marking, Feyd’s pierced cock, a bit of ball torture. A/N: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

You were one year old when you first learn that having a soulmate is more akin to a catastrophe, than a blessing. You shouldn’t remember the horrified gasp both your Bene Gesserit and your adoptive mother had exhaled, when they discovered your soulmate’s words on your body, yet you retrieved the memory when your Bene Gesserit mother taught you how to meditate. The two women had instilled the distrust of the bond in your heart, in hope to avoid what was unavoidable: the gravitational pull between two soulmates, before the forging of the bond.

Was the universe conspiring to realize this goal, when you felt compelled to follow your soulmate’s energy, the dark thread that pulled you towards him during that fateful afternoon you were meditating all alone? How could that sad, bald boy be a curse? He looked so alone in the big, dark room: how could you not go to him, when you felt him so strongly within yourself, for the first time?

All your parents, both biological and adoptive seemed keen in convincing you that stunting the newborn bond was the safest way for you to live: you couldn’t break you adoptive father’s heart when you had seen how ashen his face had become as soon as you told him the name of your destiny. You were but a child of six, still learning the ways of the world and put all your energies in forging a wall between you and him, learning to ignore the tug of your soul towards him, until you could pretend you never visited him.  It was a fool’s errand, a wall made of feathers, not bricks, the one you, so desperately, crafted to make your family happy. Through the cracks, tendrils of the bond had, slowly, made way for themselves, as you deluded yourself with believing you were safe, that you could escape your destiny. You were a fool, your whole family was. He was biding his time, patiently waiting for the tendrils to envelop the bricks of your defenses and destroy them: if his uncle had taught him something, was the patience of the spider that weaves its web and you, little fly, were going to be ensnared. It was destiny, after all.

You haven’t seen him since that fateful encounter. Stupidly your brain expected him to still be a child of five, sad and alone the way you first met him, you struggle to recognize him in the grown man observing you like a predator would its prey. 

“Found you.” He says, his voice a gravelly drawl that makes goosebumps explode on your dream skin. 

He’s grown, dream you thinks, of course he’s an adult now.

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He deadpans.

There’s a sort of tenderness in his blue eyes, in the way he assess you from his perch. The irony doesn’t escape you, your first meeting had happened in his bedchambers, your positions the same: him sitting on the bed, you standing in front of him, two curious children who had been playing with forces beyond their understanding.

You want to look everywhere but at him, yet your eyes are drawn to his naked form under the black bed sheets, the strong planes of his hairless chest and the raw, masculine energy you feel coming from him in waves. Even though this is a dream, you can feel your dream body react to his non-presence, your nipples stiffen under the soft cotton of your nightgown and your cunt pulsates with the need to be filled by him. 

“You have no idea.” You growl back.

His dark gaze travels down your body, clad only by the soft material of your nightgown and you have to steer yourself from covering your skin from the hunger in his gaze.

“Join me.” He says, beckoning you with one hand. “You know you want to.” “You’ll soon realize how little you know about me.” You spat back, disgusted by the desire coursing through your dream body.

You know that, if you were to follow the desperate howl of need you feel, the pleasure he’ll give you will be unparalleled, it will ruin anyone else for you. There will be no escaping.

With a speed that only exists in a dream, he stands in front of you, glorious body naked, pierced cock erect and straining towards you.

“Why make this harder than it should be? You’re made for me and I am made for you. It’s no use fighting this.” He drawls, the sound a low rumble you feel in your bones. “Because I forge my own path. And I have no use for a fool.”

You’re surprised by how firm your voice is, all the training kicking in without you even thinking about it; he laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through you.

“I’m coming for you, soulmate.” He says, his voice calm, his tone final and sure. “If you can find me.” “I always know where you are.” 

You force yourself to wake up, body sweaty and aroused under the soft cotton of your own sheets; you’re ashamed by the desire that burns your body, and by the fact that you have to bury your fingers in your wet cunt, forcing yourself to come again and again, biting your pillow to stifle the desperate moans of his name: Feyd.

To leave both your biological and adopted family is the only solution you have, not when you have to tell your mothers and fathers that Feyd coming for you is not an ‘If’ anymore, but a ‘When’.

“It is too slim a chance that he will not come after you, in the end.” Your mentat father repeats you in the vain hope to stop you. “I’d rather seize that, than wait like a sitting duck!” “You can’t run forever.” Your adoptive father puts his big hands on your shoulders, stopping you from packing. “You’re safer here, where guards are.”

You stare at him, your trained eye sees the stunted micro expressions and the way he’s trying to hide his anxiety from you.

“I’m not sacrificing our people’s on his blade, he will stop once he’ll realize that I have no interest in him and that he can’t reach me; Harkonnen care more about power than anything else. And then I will be able to come home.”

You have to keep yourself awake, swallowing pills after pills, using all your training to force your exhausted body to endure the never ending trip to the furthest limit of the Imperium, jumping from a smuggler vessel to another, hiding your true path from Feyd by trying to use the bond to manipulate him into going on a wild goose chase. 

Sometimes you can hear the low rumble of his voice like an echo in your mind, his fleeting image randomly appears in your mirror, his dark eyes pools of desire that have you tremble in the deepest recess of your core; you're so tired now that you don’t know if it’s the bond becoming stronger, or your exhausted brain running on fumes that makes you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch on your skin or his presence by your side. It is torture not to follow what your body wants: just let yourself become one with your soulmate, and rest in the safety of his presence. You are too stubborn to surrender yourself to biology, and to Feyd, so you soldier on, blocking him out as much as you can as the bond erodes the last, frayed, defenses you have left.

Hidden under a false name you wait to set sail to the last leg of your journey and you have to bundle yourself into thick layers of clothes to survive the frigid weather of this small planet, as you force yourself get a breath of fresh air whenever the walls of your rented room seem to become smaller and smaller. It’s paranoia, yet you seem to feel the eyes of the owner of the inn scan you every time you go out, weighting you against the other patrons and finding you too different to truly blend in: when is the vessel coming? You ask yourself again and again, as you navigate the crowded market, vibrating with the need to simply go and finish this demented trip.

You walk aimlessly, pressed in the crowd that protects and smothers you at the same time, trying to interest yourself in the trinkets sold while you study your surroundings, feeling the power you have on the simulflow slip: as much as the Bene Gesserit have total and utter control on their body and its functions, there’s still a limit, and you know you are reaching it at full force.

When you see him, for a second you think that’s your brain playing tricks on you: he can’t be here, not without you feeling him through the bond. Have you finally lost your mind? You can’t truly analyze what’s happening that your body seizes, torn between the extreme stress you’ve put it under for weeks, and feeling the bond finally snap and settle; you faint on the cobbled road, all your muscles trembling violently, your head banging against the pavement as the people make room around you, your ears deaf to their horrified screams, or to Feyd calling your name.

Finally you can rest.

You open your eyes to a dull ache in the back of your head, your eyes focusing slowly on the rustic woodwork of the ceiling above you as you feel your mind assess your memories, and block Feyd from knowing you’re awake, out of sheer instinct, knowing full well this is going to work partially: you will need to face the man, not now though, you’re not ready. You want to assess the bond, understand it: what you haven’t done in your entire life. Escaping is not in the cards anymore, now that Feyd knows where you are, you just need some more time, before you can face him. You’re still surprised he’s been apt enough to manipulate the bond to this extent: you thought he was wasting time in a wide goose chase! This level of deviousness leaves you speechless and, if the circumstances were different, you’d be happy to take Feyd as your lawfully wedded husband; but you can’t.

You have no idea how long you’ve been out, probably long enough to feel your strength and clarity being restored, albeit partially. Quick and silent you bundle yourself up in your warmest clothes and throw the survival kits you have in the backpack, before opening the window and use your mentat training to assess the best route to escape the village, using the roofs as your route. Feyd will realize soon enough that you’re gone again and you need to cover as much ground as you can manage. This planet is so backward, even compared to the standards of this side of the galaxy, that the only mode of transportation is on horseback; for a split second you consider stealing one form one of the stables of the inn, but that would bring too much attention to yourself, and you don’t need that.

Feyd reaches you when you’ve arrived at the high cliffs, the only known feature of this small planet. You knew he’d be on your tracks as soon as he’d realize you weren’t asleep anymore, the block on the bond only partially shielding you from his awareness: you have to confront him, finally, but on your own terms, not his. 

“Stay where you are!” You shout over the howling of the wind, as soon as he dismounts from the horse. “If you come any closer I’m chucking myself off this cliff!”

You see Feyd stop on his tracks immediately, and you know he knows, through the bond, that you’re not lying.

“This is the moment you turn around and go back to your home planet!” You shout. “You know I can't do that.” “No one is forcing your hand!”

Your foot slips a little but you manage to regain your balance; a shot of pure, unadulterated fear courses through the bond: it's Feyd’s and it takes your breath away.

“Come closer!” He shouts over the violent wind. “I don't trust you, Harkonnen!”

Frustration, anger, sadness all explode through the bond and you know he's forcing himself not to jump at you and drag you off the cliff, kicking and screaming, even risking you jumping backwards; with the bond having settled, the connection is unavoidable, thus keeping him out completely will never work, there will always be a part of him linked to your soul.

“I'm not going to hurt you!” “You’d never be able to! Not even in a million years!”

Frustration again, and a hint of amusement: he believes his swordsmanship to be better than yours. You fight back, focusing all your anger on him, the strength of it pushing him backwards.

“You can try to best me!” He shouts.

He's positively amused now, despite the situation, he finds you amusing! You're so incensed you’d carve his eyes out! And you’d do so, if fat drops of rain didn't start pelting the two of you, drenching the two of you to the bone in seconds. The sky has turned black and the wind is so violent that you have to abandon your perch on the cliff and get closer to Feyd.

“There's…” You try to make yourself heard over the brutal howling. “Caves!” You shout, pointing to the point where the cliffs fall directly into the ocean. “Go back!” He shouts back. “Too far!”

The crack of a too close thunder scares the horse. The animal rears violently on his hind legs, forcing you and Feyd to move aside before it runs away, mad with fear. You elect to ignore that Feyd has put himself between you and the scared horse.

“We need to go!” You shout, pulling the hood tighter over your head.

You're drenched to the bone and so cold that it's only thanks to the prana-bindu training that you're not trembling like a leaf. Feyd doesn't look any better than you do: his black clothes have absorbed all the water possible and are sticking to his long body; it's the light shade of blue of his lips that’s concerning: without the horse, going back to the village is impossible in this weather: you two need to find refuge as soon as possible! 

You don't need to tell him, you simply start walking, trying to orient yourself under the wall of rain that's still pouring over you two to find the cave system you know exists in the cliff that slopes into the ocean. 

The wind makes walking a feat, you have to bend forward and push against the violence of the element. Through the bond you feel Feyd and the strain his own body is put under to follow your path, how cold he feels; and it’s affecting you as well. A full grown bond between soulmates it’s not that different from the Other Memory, yet it’s deeper. It’s not simply sharing one’s ego, it’s fusing two cores, while maintaining one’s consciousness: the most deep connection of two people’s experiences, lives and feelings, the biological need to help and protect the other side of the bond. What you’re desperately trying to fight.  On a genetic level you want to share your prana-bindu control over to Feyd, to protect him from the chill in his bones, your rational mind stops you from doing so and you’re torn between those two needs battling in your chest.

You two stumble inside the first opening you see and keep walking until you two are away enough from the draft coming from the mouth of the cave; you two quickly scope it, and you finally let your back rest against the cold stones when it is apparent that there’s only one way in and out.

“What is this place?” Feyd’s voice is even lower, raspy with tiredness. “Bandit’s cove. The ruling House of this constellation has eliminated the threat years ago and never went through the hassle of emptying the whole cave system. Some reports say that no planetologist ever studied it as a whole.”

All around the two of you lay broken pieces of furniture and even older equipment, perhaps you two can even find some dry blankets to add to what you have in your survival kits.

The slap of Feyd’s over layers of clothes being thrown on the floor snaps you out of your thoughts: another side effect of being in the presence of one’s soulmate is the instinctual fall of every self-protection response, and you didn’t even realize it’s happening to you!

“We need to start a fire.” Feyd tells you.

You force yourself to ignore the way the remaining layers of wet clothes cling to his long body, enhancing the strong muscles as he moves around to break the furniture into smaller pieces; you know he knows you’re watching, and he likes it. Hurriedly you open your backpack, looking for matchsticks, hoping they are all still dry in the deepest pocket of the survival kit, electing to ignore his smugness again: you don’t know what will happen between you two, one thing is certain, you will slap that smirk off his face, probably sooner than later. 

“You shouldn’t threaten me with the promise of a good time, if you’re not going to deliver.” He drawls, and you feel warmth explode in your body.

You throw the matchsticks at him, who grabs it blindly, too focused on creating a small pile of wood to look towards you; despite the shaking of his hands he manages to start the fire. You get closer to the small flames and let your palms hover for a moment, knowing full well you have to change into the dry clothes in your pack; Feyd doesn't seem to care that you're there, he simply removes the remaining layers covering his torso, before rummaging through his own backpack.  You can't help yourself, you stare, almost transfixed, at the way his muscles move and play under his white skin, the tight control he has on his movements scream of the training he had subjected himself to: he is so powerful and a part of you wonders how sheathing him within yourself would feel, how would your body manage the feat; you turn around as quickly as you can when he stares at you, embarrassed by having let your mind wonder.

“Are we still playing this game?”

Again, amusement floods from his side of the bond, surprising you. 

“It's common decency.” “Was it when you were ogling me?” “I wasn't. I was thinking and you were in the way. Now will you turn around?” “You are weird.” He says, cocking his head to the side. 

He talks! You think. Has he ever looked at himself in a mirror? Do they even have mirrors on Giedi Prime?

“We do have mirrors. It would surprise you how common those are back home.”

You jump at his answer, not being used to having someone else camping in your head.

“Stay out of my mind!” “Easier to say than to do.”

He's right and you know it. You know he's not watching as you undress and unpack the dry clothes from their protective layers, yet you feel his presence, his warmth, as if he were touching you; you shiver, you can't help it, the deeper, the baser triggers of your biology taking over a lifetime of training.  It is strange, having to manage the rapidly growth of his soul inside of you, find a balance between yourself and him: you can alter your body functions all you want, yet you can't stop yourself from feeling what Feyd does, his tiredness, the warmth seeping back in his bones, his hunger and not only for food. 

Now you understand why the Bene Gesserit are so wary of marked sisters.

You try to focus on your body, the flow of your breath and the movements of every single muscle as you change clothes and then eat. You had thought you could have simply shelved the bond in one of the planes of the simulflow, but it encompasses everything and slithers in your every thought. You are not sure how you're supposed to be still yourself and house Feyd inside of you, manage his presence and the layers of your being: is this tiredness in your bones yours? A leftover from having abused pills for too long, or is it him?

“I’ll stand guard, you sleep.” He tells you after you both have finished eating. “I'm not sleeping with you awake.” “Afraid I might steal you away?” “Would you?” “I don't know. Would I?”

His eyes focus on yours as you feel him poke you through the bond. 

“How come you're so apt at this?” You ask, needing to change the subject and fishing for information.  “I reckon one of us has to, after you blocked me out. It came handy in the long run.” His full lips twist in a smirk and you can see he hasn't the black pain on his teeth; isn’t the na Baron supposed to wear that? “Both of us sleeping is dangerous. If I truly wanted to take you, I would have done so when you fainted in the middle of the street.” “This planet is safe, all the reports say so.” You retort back.  “And you know because you’ve read all of them.” He answers, sarcasm tinging his voice.

So he doesn't know, you realize. Even though he knows how to manipulate the bond better than you do, what you are hasn't seeped through, yet. 

He will, though, soon enough. 

“If you're tired, I am tired. It's irritating.”

It's more than that, it fucks with both your rogue mentat and Bene Gesserit training: it’s harder to understand how to live with another’s soul inside of yours when you feel like you’re battling running on fumes. You know he knows you're not telling the truth, not the whole of it, but the sharing between you two is still happening: you two aren't completely barren to one another. 

“We sleep with our backs to the stone and I am laying in front of you. That's not negotiable.” “Don't tell me an Harkonnen has developed the ability to care.” You bark. “I trust my knives more than any report.” He answers. 

He's not lying, you realize, he’s not being a gentleman, he simply believes more in his swordsmanship, than he does anything else.

You huff and busy yourself with creating an insulation layer, by putting on the stone floor the ancient blankets stored in one of the trunks Feyd used to feed the fire, before opening your sleeping bag. 

Before laying down, you hang all your wet clothes on a small trunk, as close to the fire as possible, hoping they will dry through the night. Feyd does the same and you can't help but notice the stark difference between your earthly tones and his solid black. He then lays the blankets from your survival packs, and his, over the sleeping bags, hoping to ward the cold and humidity away; it’s not ideal but it’s just for one night, back home he’ll shower you will the comforts that come with being his spouse, because you’re going back to Geidi Prime with him.

Uneasy you slither inside your sleeping bag. Hiding a small dagger under the pillow you turn to face Feyd, who is lying on his back; you’d rather sleep on your other side, but you still don’t trust him.

Despite all odds, you fall asleep, a deep, dreamless slumber that envelops you in darkness and quiet; beside you Feyd sleeps the sleep of the hunter, light and ready to be awoken by the gentlest of sounds. He has to force himself not to follow you into the deep sea of unconsciousness, has to fight the natural soulmate instinct to lose all survival instinct, because one’s other half is finally by their side.

The sudden stop of the rainfall is what awakens him. In the darkness he can make out your features, slackened with the relaxation of sleep. A stray lock of hair has escaped the loose plait you braided to help dry them; he longs to move it out of your face, feel the actual texture and not the phantom he does through the bond, but then you would wake and he just wants to observe you. You are beautiful to him in the way nothing is permitted to be on Giedi Prime, you’re also a headache and a half, trying to send him on a wild goose chase and still rejecting him. It would have almost worked, if he hadn’t gone through the pains of learning the ways of the bond, while you had been rejecting it ever since you two were children. He had to be devious about it, hiding from his uncle, pretending to ignore it to not incur in his wrath again and he had to do it all on his own, alone and abandoned by you, who never visited him again. He’ll know soon enough if your family had punished you for having a soulmate, for wearing his words on your skin, the way his uncle did when he first saw the words hidden in the crease of his right thigh.

You become restless in your sleep at this thought, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

The long years you left him alone in navigating the bond, he had hated that you left him to his own devices, had imagined to hurt you as punishment for the wall you had built between you two, had longed for you and punished himself for it. When he saw you again, in that too short dream, he felt like he had received a personality transplant: all his rage gone, substituted by this array of feelings foreign to him, that he couldn’t name, and lust for your body. There’s no love, nor gentleness on Giedi Prime, or in the Harkonnen family, yet all he could think was that his daggers existed to protect you, that he would never raise his hand in anger against you. Even on that cliff, where he was ready to just drag you by the hair away from danger, it wasn’t because he wanted to hurt you, just protect you; and you’re making everything so difficult, stubborn little thing that you are.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Your voice is a light murmur, your eyes stubbornly closed. “You think while I am asleep, thus waking me up, Feyd?”

It’s the first time you’ve used his name, still emerging from your slumber your defenses are lowered, or so you like to think.

“You’ll learn.” He says. “You could have had a head start.” “You’re such an asshole.” You growl back, opening your eyes.

His face is not fully turned towards you, mindful of the distant opening of the cave, and you can only observe his profile. He’s as handsome, his features only enhanced by the lack of hair, as much as he’s devious and smart: of course he hits all the targets with you, the universe shaped him for you, if only…

Before you let your thoughts wander anymore, you stand up abruptly and start collecting your belongings.

“And you are making this harder than it should!”

You can feel his rage through the bond, it hurts you, yet you know this is the only course of action.

“Why can’t you understand there’s no other way? I’m not coming to Giedi Prime with you, and I am not bringing you home with me!”

Now it’s his turn to stand up, his massive hand curls around your arm and even through the layers of clothing you can feel his warmth, his words on your skin burning.

“I’m not some stray puppy you found at the side of the road!” He bites back.

Before you can answer, from the darkness, countless knives fall upon you two.

The cave you two have camped in must have had another entrance, hidden, because there’s men pouring in from everywhere. Before you and Feyd can go back to back, you two are separated, forced to parry and dodge the hail of stabbing and blows. The more people you two wound and kill, the more appear; they seem to focus mainly on Feyd, who is fighting brutally, cutting through the wall of men that’s, inexorably, closing upon him, in the vain attempt to reach you and the exit from the cave. You’re backed against a wall, desperately trying to carve your way out, but more men jump you and you know you’ve been wounded.

Feyd is one of the finest fighters of the whole Imperium, fast and cunning, but he’s just one man against a never ending sea and as much strength and speed you can infuse your movements, you two outnumbered, you realize, assessing the situation with the inward calm you have been lacking these past few weeks. Knowing that there’s only one solution doesn’t scare you, perhaps it’s the key to solve this entire issue. You focus on the four men blocking you against the stone wall: you forget the daggers in your hands, forget the pain coursing through you body and simply concentrate all your energies on your vocal cords.

“Kill all your companions!” You order, knowing full well how hard it is to use the Voice on a group of people.

The four stop their advance and stare at you, confused, as if assessing your words, before turning around and attacking their own friends.  The ensuing chaos is what you and Feyd need to gain the upper hand and cut through the whole host of enemies, now too stunned to pose a threat anymore, until only the four you used the Voice on are still standing.

Another person would be horrified by the look in their eyes at the realization that they have help massacre their own people, you can’t find it in your heart to care.

“Finish the job!” You bark, too busy to assess your internal damages to observe the ensuing bloodbath.

You let your body fall onto the ground, you know you have some broken ligaments in you ankle and a gaping wound on your side; and your cells proliferating hurts more than being stabbed.

You feel, more than hear, Feyd kneel by your side.

“You’re one of the witches.”

Surprise courses through the bond, a sneer tinges his deep voice; perhaps this is the way to convince him to let you go.

“My birth mother was, still is in a way. She’s just given me renegade training, ah!”

Your body tenses when a fractured rib snaps back into place.

“No Bene Gesserit can be marked by soul words.”

“That’s what they want everyone to believe.” You open your eyes and fix your gaze upon him. “Marked sisters exists, like my mother. They are a minority and are not fully trusted to follow whatever is the Bene Gesserit end goal.”

A cursory check of your injuries shows you that you’re left with minor scrapes.

“Feyd, you don’t want to associate yourself with the mess that’s my family. And I can’t let the Baron have any control over my training.”

The training your birth parents forced upon you as protection against your soulmate, the training that makes you accepting the bonding so dangerous. Idiots, all of them! And you as well!

You let your head fall back against the stone, in your mind eye you can see yourself the way Feyd does, still bloodied and covered in perspiration, the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his entire life.

“You’d really think I would let my uncle play you like a puppet on a string?” “You know you’re a pawn in his game. Everyone in your family is, and I can’t risk him using me to gain even more power.”

Sadness fills the bond, it comes from you in waves; you’re not telling him the whole truth, though, he realizes, this is but one of the reasons why you’ve been avoiding your shared destiny.

“That is not a problem anymore.”

Your eyes snap open and land on his white teeth, again.

Why isn’t he wearing the black paint? He’s the na Baron, he’s supposed to! You finally let yourself analyze this change in him. The only reason why he’s stopped…

“Yes.” The low drawl of his voice halts your rambling thoughts. “I had to follow you around the Imperium, right after my beloved uncle passed away, unexpectedly. A shame I couldn't mourn him properly.”

Flashes explode through the bond: the Emperor’s Truthsayer, the body of the old Baron on the floor, his neck broken. Feyd says ‘beloved’ but you can detect no love towards the old man.

“You passed the test. You couldn’t be accused of anything.” “Accidents happen, soulmate. Some are happier than others.” He deadpans.

Another flash: child Feyd, why is he naked? Why is his uncle there with him? You feel his pain, his shame, your words on his body. Pain! You feel like you can’t breathe when you see though his child eyes the blade, and his mother's lovely eyes. Great Mother protect us! Hate, respect, greed, hate so much of it, having to scheme every single second, knowing death and only death.

You lose control of your feelings and thoughts, flooding the bond with hate, and the images of what you would have done to the old man, for what he had put Feyd through.

“I’m glad he’s passed, I wouldn’t have been able to wait for an accident to happen.” You say. “And I wouldn’t have passed the test.”

Pride comes from him, and relief, like a warm embrace and it would be so easy to surrender to him, to your destiny.

“Why are you still trying to run?” 

Feyd’s voice is so low, you feel his words more than hear them, warm they settle in your lower belly and you want nothing more than to let yourself go.

“Because having a soulmate is a curse, don’t you understand?”.

Gently you take his hand. His palm is so big and warm, with your fingers you trace the callouses his training left behind; you don’t trust yourself to share this memory without skin on skin contact.

Now it’s Feyd’s turn to see through your eyes and, at the same time, from the outside, like a spectator, you as a child of one year old and two women fussing around you, he knows it’s your mothers, one biological, the other adopted. He feels your panic when your biological one brushes your hair and sees the newly formed words hidden by your thick locks, the wail that leaves the two women’s mouths: what have you done wrong? 

“My Bene Gesserit mother had a goal, all of them do.” You say, your hand still holding his. “She wanted to show the sisterhood she could be trusted, even with the soul words on her skin, that a marked sister could be as trustworthy as an unmarked one. Then she met my father.” “The heir to his House.” “His mentat.” You smile at his surprise. “I told you my family is a mess. They forgot their training, their loyalties, only their bond existed. It was only the sheer respect my adoptive parents held for my father, that saved them. They couldn’t even raise me as their own, and I have to believe having a soulmate is a blessing?” “It is not. But I’d rather work with it, than against it. Think of what we could achieve together.”

Oh, his cunning brain. You were bought up reciting the Litany Against Fear, but he had been the one truly growing up following it and you have been acting like a fool for your entire life: you can’t inherit your adoptive father’s dukedom, you will have to take a husband to share the power, as the laws of the Imperium force you to. Would you rather marry a stranger, maybe stupid and short sighted, or someone as cunning and ruthless as Feyd is? Why did your whole family never thought of this? Your adopted parents were terrible at their jobs, they were so painfully short sighted, thus crippling you!

“Enjoy this moment because I will never say this again: you’re right.”

Feyd grimaces at your words and his pain takes hold of the bond, he can’t keep it under control anymore. 

Your hands cup his face and you push your forehead against his: you’re not sure you’re doing this right, not without feeling him under your palms.

“What are you doing?” He manages to say. “I’m trying to assess your internal damages, shut up.”

Your nails embed themselves in the soft skin covering his skull as you feel every cell of his body as if they were yours: strained muscles and ligaments, one shoulder hurts and edema is forming, what else? You pinpoint the stray point of a broken rib that has ruptured his spleen: he’s bleeding on the inside!

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.”

Your lips connect with his to force his body to heal, his muscles to move the stray point of the rib back where it is supposed to be and mold itself to the stump, his spleen to close the wound and reabsorb the non clotted blood. Under your hands his body twists and you have to use your prana-bindu strength to keep him in place, until you’re done and every injury has healed.

“What was that?” He asks against your lips, his breath coming out harsh and fast. “A witch never explains their tricks.”

Amidst the dead bodies and the blood, Feyd kisses you, his tongue in your mouth eager, your soft breasts against the solid planes of his chest: you taste better than anything he’s ever eaten, the metallic tang of your own blood only enhances his need to absorb you within himself. You straddle him and you feel his cock, hard and thick, you can’t help but grind against him, reveling in the pleasure and the pain he feels: battling the bond and your desire towards him is impossible now.

“Not here.” You manage to moan when he releases your mouth. “Dangerous.” “Still bossing me around.” He groans when you don’t stop grinding against his erection. “I thought you liked it.”

Disengaging from one another is hard, it’s a miracle you two manage, drunk as the two of you are on post-fight adrenaline, murder and lust.

“No bandits, eradicated.”

You feel his eyes on your body, the heath behind his words: he’s not mad at you, he’s hungry. He’d have you in this mass grave, if he knew no more assailant would come. 

“Who would have come and check? No one cares about this planet.” You answer.

You two make a quick work of all your belongings and head back to the village you came from.

The sky is still dark, covered by clouds that promise rain, the thick forest that surrounds the path looms on you and Feyd; perhaps there’s more enemies hidden and ready to attack. Through the bond you feel Feyd’s readiness for a fight, he’s also ashamed of having almost lost in front of you. What should you do? How does one comfort a Giedi Prime native? Would he even accept your words?

You jump out of your skin when the horse appears from the forest. The poor animal looks worse for wear, having hidden from the storm somewhere, yet it lets you grab the reins and caress his mane, before it allows you and Feyd to mount his back and rush back to the village.

You hug Feyd from behind, your arms as tight as possible around the bloody backpack and his torso as wind and rain whip your face.  Despite the awkwardness of your temporary position, you feel lust grow in your belly, now that you’re not fighting the bond. You know that a part of it comes from Feyd, from having wanted you for years, from having tried to quench his thirst in the arena and with concubines who, he imagined, looked like you. The rest is all you. No lover you had ever managed to satisfy you: none of them was truly built for you the way he is and now that your know what he tastes like, you know you’re hooked and lost forever. How stupid you had been in letting the fears of your family dictate your actions, depriving yourself of him and chipping at your own strength: so much time lost!

The horse almost collapses in front of the inn, tired and foaming at the mouth it drinks from the waterhole in front of the building and ignores you and Feyd dismounting.

The owner of the inn pales when he sees you two, you can only imagine the ways Feyd might have threaten him, while you were out of commission; you don’t feel sorry though, you will, but not now, all you care is climb back to your room and fuck your soulmate until you both collapse. You feel Feyd’s eyes burn holes in your back, his lust for you clouding his senses; it spills trough the bond and you almost choke on your own saliva with the force of it. In your entire life you’ve never wanted someone as bad as you do Feyd right now, only decency stops you from taking him on the creaky stairs.

The door locking behind is final: you have nowhere else to run and hide.

You throw your backpack on the floor and turn around to truly observe your soulmate. He’s imposing in the small room, impossibly tall and hulking, he blocks your way out; only now you notice the freckles scattered on his cheekbones and you think how out of character that is: he’s Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the psychotic Baron of Giedi Prime, his name puts the fear of the Gods, old and new in the hearts of men, and he has freckles so light you can barely see them.

Slowly you walk towards him and lift the tip of your finger to trace them, creating constellations on his skin; Feyd lets a low groan of pleasure escape his lips at your soft touch. One day your words on his skin will stop pulsating when you touch him, his cock will not stand into attention immediately, just because he’s got a sniff of your smell; one day, in the distant future, now he moves his head to capture your fingers with his lips, sucking the digits in with a low moan. Your mouth finds his pulse point and latches there, your teeth worry the soft skin, your tongue licks his heady taste: you want to devour this man, mark him as yours for everyone to see.

“I might need a quick shower.” You murmur in his ear.

Fast, faster than what you would have expected, one of his hands grabs your hair (God the way he groans at the touch), the other lands possessively on your hip.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls, menacingly.

You find yourself slammed against the wall, unceremoniously, his hand the only protection for your head. You feel the recoil in your whole body, you want to cuss him, but his mouth is on yours, hungry, his teeth ready to draw blood from your lower lip. You plaster yourself against him, grab at his back with desperate hands as you reciprocate the kiss, blindly following his taste, deaf to the sound of your teeth clumsily clashing against his: you’ve kissed many, but no one had felt like him, tasted the way he does.

You try to push the two of you away from the wall and towards the bed, but your strength liquefies when Feyd simply stands his ground and plasters himself better against your writhing body.

“I should let you hang like this as punishment, soulmate. Tease you until you cry.”

You let your eyes roll for a moment at the heath in his words, then your teeth snap again on the soft skin of his neck and the moan that leaves his lips tells you that there’s more to this man, than his harsh exterior and his reputation.

You pull at the soft skin with jerky movements, clenching your teeth with as much strength as you dare use; Feyd snaps his hips against your clothed core: you can feel his raging erection through the layers of clothes you two are wearing, his lust flashes through the bond and you think you’re going to come by the sheer strength of it. When you taste blood, Feyd knows and moans, a rich, deep sound of pleasure that shakes you: no other lover has accepted your need for pain and violence the way Feyd is doing right now.

He kisses you savagely when he sees his own blood on your lips and you moan at his pleasure, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself against the onslaught of his teeth on your mouth, of his tongue seeking his own taste inside of you; you don’t even realize you can, yet you’re chanting his name through the bond, your lust only enhancing his. He needs to be inside of you, yet he can’t stop kissing you, feeling your needs meld in the bond: it’s heady and better than any sex he’s ever had in his entire life.

“Bed.” You moan when he releases your lips, only to bite your neck like an animal. “Make me.” He growls back.

You have to center yourself against the pleasure and the torment he’s giving you, his hands mold themselves around your breasts, only to squeeze your tender flesh to the point of pain, his hips jackhammer against yours and you know the right angle will make you come like a horny teenager; desperate you focus inward, on your muscles and nerves, willing the pleasure to fade in the background of your conscience and your attention to be on your body, to move you two away from the wall.

Not feeling Feyd through the bond is almost worse: pulling the broadcasting of his pleasure in the background makes you hear his moans and groans even better. He’s unabashed in his lust and knowing that’s you causing all of this makes breathing difficult, yet you manage to push against his bigger frame, forcing him to walk backwards a few steps, before you let one leg fall on the floor and propel the two of you more; he digs his heels against you, effectively stopping the two of you from moving.

“Seems like we are not going anywhere.” He drawls and you feel the amusement through the bond. “And there I thought you wanted to taste me.” You murmur in his ear. “I was told I am delicious.”

A flare of jealousy courses through the bond, his hands grab at your body with such a strength you know you’ll wear his marks for days. Unceremoniously he throws you on the bed, his hands on your knees stop you from closing your legs.

“Who are those who have already taste you?” “Many.” You shrug. “I couldn’t always be good and proper, could I?”

The growl his dangerous and you can’t find in your heart to be afraid: you want him charged up, want to feel the full force of his passion; you laugh in his face as he cuts and rips the clothes away from your body, until you’re naked and ready, your own hidden weapons fallen and forgotten on the floor. The dagger he’s used to cut your clothes, now travels from your neck to your torso, the sharp edge almost touching your skin, but not really.

“Taste my blood, Feyd.” You moan. “It’s something else I’m thirsty for, soulmate.” It’s his dark answer.

He drives the knife through the mattress, next where your head is in a show of dominance that has your hole clench around nothing. 

Feyd dives between your legs, he leaves you no chance to speak when his lips curl around your clit and suck, harsh and fast, with filthy moans of pleasure that reverberate through your whole being. Your hips try to push up, stopped by his big hands, your tights clench around his head as you try to escape the pleasure, escape him, pitiful whines flow from your lips as he pushes you higher and higher, until you come with a scream.  Dazed by pleasure you expected Feyd to stop, to give you respite; his tongue in your hole forces your body in overdrive, his nose is pure torture against your puffy clit. With horror you realize that you have no purchase against his onslaught, no way to control his movements, but with the clenching of your legs around his head. You try to leverage against his body and his hands shoot out to grab yours, the risk of you snapping his neck enhances his lust, the lack of oxygen only spurs him on to fuck you faster, harder with his long tongue until you explode, breathless and desperate.

“Feyd! Feyd! Let go!”

A harsh bite on your thigh is your only answer, followed by a low growl, like a rabid animal that's finally found food.  Through the bond you can feel his pleasure, his hunger, his lust: everything enhances your own reactions, your own blind need for his body. You’re panting now, almost no oxygen enters your lungs, because Feyd’s long tongue is licking you, with clockwise motions he explores your wet heath, only to nibble at your clit, forcing your body to squirm under his weight; the kick of your heels against his back only spurs him on: he can feel how overstimulated you are and it only amps up his own libido, the pain you’re causing him blanks his mind and he almost comes untouched in his trousers when your pleasure becomes painful and your body is shaking wildly under his.

One of his arms falls on your tummy to block you, three fingers of his other hand are already inside of you seek that spongy part that has you jump under him when he finally finds it. You start crying when his lips suck your abused clit: there’s no mercy in the way he’s handling you, just a mindless focus on pleasure. He’s canting his hips against nothing, needing your taste and, at the same time, to be buried inside of you; the way you’re trying to escape spurs him on, his fingers fuck you faster, rougher they scissor your clenching muscles as you kick and scream wildly, almost as if possessed when his soft lips suck following the rough rhythm of his fingers inside of you. You tense under him and arch, the tears falling from your eyes blind you, wail like moans choke in your throat as you feel your body reaching your end, your nerves burn where he’s pleasuring you, so much pleasure, too much! You squirt all over his face, and almost pass out when his fingers don’t stop fucking you a his tongue leisurely licks your essence with obscene moans of appreciation at your taste.

“You truly taste delicious.” He murmurs against one of the bruise on your tight. “Too bad I will have to hunt down every single person who’s had you.”

You can’t answer immediately, your brain is still tying to come down from the barrage of orgasms he forced you to go through, your skin feels oversensitive to the soft touch of his lips.

“Who are those people?” You ask, breathless. “I only remember you.”

Through the bond he knows you’re telling the truth: your past lovers, however many they were, don’t exist anymore, in your mind there’s only him and all the pleasure he’s given you.

You try to find purchase on his slick skin, until you reach the neckline of his jumper to use it to pull him up for a long kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on his lips, your taste and his mingle when his tongue massages yours slowly, his only goal is to savor you, until you are the only thing he can taste for the rest of his life.

“You’re overdressed.” You moan against his full lips.

You don’t leave him the chance to answer. As tired as you are, already, you grab a fistful of his thick jumper and pull upwards, forcing him to remove it, or be choked, leaving him with the other layers of thinner jumpers and thermal shirts. Through the bond you send the image of his knife slicing through his clothing, he laughs but undresses hastily, leaving clothing and weapons on the floor: he’s overheating and sweaty, moreover, why denying himself the feeling of your skin under his?

You’ve managed to push yourself backwards to enjoy the view of his powerful body being revealed: the thick cords of muscles and the pink nipples, his raging erection and the piercing running horizontally, through the shiny head of his cock.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, concerned. “Not anymore. It enhances everything.” He answers.

Slowly he lays on you, his weight strangely familiar as he kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your body with his, savoring the way your full breasts cushion his sturdy chest and how your hips are the perfect cradle for his. He’s surprised to find himself on his back, when you use his distraction to switch your positions; not that he’s complaining, you’re towering over him, giving him a nice view of your full breasts and perky nipples, while his cock is cradled between your lips, warm and drenched. His eyes fixate on the patch of hair between your legs, focused as he was on tasting you to your core, his brain has bypassed everything else and now he’s fascinated by the soft, wet curls he can feel against his body.

“Is it strange?” You gently ask. “Everyone on Giedi Prime is hairless. It’s not bad, just peculiar.” He answers with a shrug.

His long fingers tentatively touch your lips and you shudder, still so sensitive, and you haven’t had his cock yet.

“I’m not shaving, anywhere.” “I didn’t ordered you to, and I will not let you bare yourself like that.”

You pinch his nipple as punishment for his answer and his cock swells under you.

“I don’t need your permission.” You growl back. “I wanted to ride you, now I have to postpone that, and it’s all you fault!” You add, with a wicked smile.

With as much speed your tired muscles let you, you turn around and hover your cunt over his face; you smirk at his satisfied growl and the way his hands go to your hips: it’s cute he believes you’re letting him have a taste again. You flick his reddened head when he tries to pull you down to his lips, he yelps in pain and you don’t miss the beads of precome that appear immediately: he’s truly made for you, and you only.

“You’ve had your taste, now it’s my turn.”

You ignore your hunger when you slowly lick his head and moan at the taste, heady and masculine on your tongue, and envelope his head in your lips, sucking gently, taking your time to have more until you hear his groans and his desperation through the bond, only then you take more, and more, ignoring the way his hips try to push upwards, simply blocking his movements using your prana-bindu strength, reveling in the curses and in the pain he feels. When his head hits the back of your throat he shudders, his muscles shake with the need to move and fuck your face; perhaps if he behaves you’ll let him, one day, but now he is to suffer. You relax your muscles and swallow him with a moan that reverberates through the whole of him, tortured by your lips and the sight of your hole clenching over his face. He desperately tries not to come when the velvety muscles of your throat start massaging his erection and your hand caresses his heavy balls; he arches with a howl of pain when you squeeze them cruelly, and pull at them viciously, until he comes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You swallow what you can and lick what escapes your ravenous hunger, until it pools on your tongue and you can turn around to kiss him, making him swallow his own essence, his pleasure heady in the bond.

You abandon your body over his, feeling his satisfaction and the warmth of his body; you nuzzle his long neck, so smooth and marked by your teeth. You could almost fall asleep: you feel finally sated and happy after sex, like never before. Through the bond you feel Feyd purr his satisfaction, his big hand caresses your back, following the knobs of your spine leisurely. 

“Don't fall asleep. I'm not done with you.” He growls.  “Hmm, yes please.”

You feel his cock stir between your bodies and prop one leg over his hip, spreading yourself for him and letting his half hard member between your lower lips. You should feel embarrassed by the renewed wetness, all you can think of is sheathing Feyd's thick cock inside of you.

“You're coming to Geidi Prime with me.” He says, cupping your cheek.  “I need to go home, lest fathers believe you’ve kidnapped me and are keeping me there against my will.” “As if.” “You forget this communication goes both ways. Drag me by my hair?” “From the cliff.” He rolls his eyes.  “I had it under control!” “You almost fell, I felt it!” “Don't mention it. To my family, I mean.” “The cliff or the hair?”

You're surprised by how amused Feyd feels through the bond or that he has a sense of humor.

“We have that too, on Geidi Prime, as well as mirrors. Incredible, I know.”

You know you’ve dehumanized him in your head for all your life: he was your personal boogeyman, not a man, albeit volatile, not someone with feelings and needs, not your soulmate, but your nightmare. You shouldn't be surprised that he's more than the warrior, and the heir to his family's name: who has been the monster, between you two, for all this time?

You cuddle closer to his warmth, your eyes falling on your spidery handwriting almost hidden by the crease of his tight; you follow the words with the tip of your finger, and cringe at how ill behaved you had been from the start. 

“I should have known you’d be hard to pin down, just from that.”  “‘Are you sad because you have no hair?’ Great Mother, what a heinous bitch I was! You should have kept me at arm’s length!” “Show me my words.” He asks. 

There's a heath in his voice you don't understand, but know it's not because you constantly moving means his cock gets stimulated into full hardness. 

Gently you start parting your hair and he finishes the work from you. He enjoys the foreign feeling of your hair on his fingers, almost ticklish but not really, soft and rough at the end of the strands, strangely fascinating since none of his past lays had hair, he's not sure what he is supposed to do with yours. 

“You can pull.” You say with a shudder when he touches his words on you. “You need to be gentle, though. You can caress and play with it, I can teach you how to braid, if you want.”.

Feyd’s hand finds home in the roots and pulls, tentatively at first, only to use more strength when you softly moan.

“I think I’ll stick to this.” He growls and you know he’s unlocked a new kink.

He uses his hold to pull you closer to his face and kiss you, his tongue languid in your mouth explores you, taking his time to commit your taste to memory; you scratch his neck in the attempt to gain control back, you liked having him at your mercy too much to let go and he simply tightens his hold on you, drinking down your moans of pleasure.

You straddle him, making sure your warm cunt envelopes his erection and start grinding slowly, letting him feel how wet you are, and ready for his cock; he turns you two, towering over you and you simply arch your back towards him, feeling his eyes on your breasts and perky nipples when you start massaging them, keening and moaning with need. His control snaps, his teeth find your soft flesh to nibble, his lips to suck marks as your legs curl around his frame to cradle him as close as possible to yourself, your nails stretching and raking down his long back in retaliation: the more you hurt him, the savager he becomes, in a cycle only enhanced by your shared brain.

“Now! Now!” You squeal after a particularly harsh bite, feeling your cunt clench painfully around nothing.

Feyd releases your breast with a pop, observing his handiwork with pride: you’re covered with his teeth marks and your cunt is so puffy and leaking sweet cream, only because he’s hurt you, and you him.

His hard cock is exquisite torture, so heavy between his legs he’s in agony when your hand starts jacking him, making sure he’s wet and beyond ready for your cunt, to the point he has to slap your hand away, or he’ll come all over your tummy; he can’t have that, not when your hole is clenching and wet and ready. You arch your back when he breaches you, his head is fat and the piercing only enhances the feeling of him against your wall; through the bond you feel his pleasure, how hard it is for him to control himself and not come, it all amplifies your own lust and need, your hips snapping upwards to take him faster and it’s the sweetest pain, being stretched too early, having your cunt pummeled open and molded to fit his thick cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, with a long groan of pleasure.

Feyd has to keep his eyes closed, the thin thread of his control almost snapping with every breath he takes: he’s imagined this, he’s spilled in his own hands countless times to the fantasy of you sheathing him inside yourself, and reality can’t compare. Your insides are the softest velvet, your muscles the cruelest of vices around his cock that he can barely grind against you when you start whining. His strength deserts him and he falls on you, managing to catch his weight on his bent arm when your cunt tries to suck him; he can barely breathe your scent in, his body almost in overdrive with pleasure when your hands grab his buttocks to push him in deeper, desperate to feel him in every crevice of your body.

You lock your feet on his tailbone, forcing him to grind against your puffy clit, battered muscles as tight as possible around him in the desperate quest to fuse him with yourself, the piercing pure torture against your G spot. You scratch his back savagely when your orgasm starts to crest, your body squirms under him, clutches his tighter as the band in your belly tightens and tightens, your shared pleasure only enhancing his own need to lose himself inside of you. It hurts to grind against you, it hurts to wait for your pleasure to explode and he can barely contain himself when you sob your pleasure as if he’s hurting you, your nails stabbing him when you come, howling and crying, him following you with guttural, animal sounds he can barely suppress against your skin.

You caress his back and hug him as close as possible as he keeps coming inside of you, his orgasm almost never ending fills you to the brink with his thick cum, his whines of painful pleasure cause a smaller orgasm to rip through you torturing him even more, until all his strength is lost and he’s trembling in your arms, skin so sensitive your caresses feel like lashings.

You feel all of it through the bond, along with his unwillingness to stop touching you through the torment your skin is for him now. Awkwardly you try to send soothing feelings to him, helping him to calm down from the incredible high that the coupling had been for him. You know, because he remembers disjointed memories of his dreams of you, of him waking up hard and desperate and alone, needing your soft touch and having to settle for his own hand. He had hated you in those moments, his body shaken by those painful orgasms that tasted like ashes, that were never truly satisfactory. With a stab of jealousy you see the people he fucked, brutal and fast, imaging you in their stead, and even that wasn’t enough to sate his hunger, now? Now he’s in heaven, having felt pleasure like never before in his life.

You have to use all your prana-bindu strength to roll you two on the side, Feyd is basically dead weight in your arms, before you hug him as tight as possible, only wishing to have a knife at hand to protect you two in this unfamiliar environment, the one embedded on the bed has fallen and you can’t reach it.

“The owner would rather kill himself than dare disturb us.”

Feyd’s voice is tired and low, a rumble you feel in your whole body.

“What did you do?”

You can feel Feyd’s wicked smile against your throat.

“Nothing. Just exchanged a few friendly words after you fainted.” “I’m electing to ignore whatever has happened.” You say. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come around.” You add, awkwardly

You feel how tired he is, moving his head away from the crook of your neck is almost impossible for him.

“You have all the time to make up for it. Now sleep, you’re going to need it, that I can promise.”

You shiver against him. Neither of you are going home any time soon and there’s all the time in the world to negotiate the route back.

[sp4ceboo]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a  goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call  you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Feyd-rautha x Atreides reader headcanons pt.1

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

- you first met when you were both children

- your father carefully observed the young Harkonnen who approached his little girl

- to everyone's surprise, you hugged him tightly and presented him with a dagger scabbard that you had sewn yourself under your mother's guidance

- little Feyd looked uncertainly at his uncle, who pushed him closer to the girl with his meaty hand

- with a small blush he thrust into her hand a necklace with a black stone that had been roughly worked by the boy's hand

- the girl lit up and started showing the gift to her twin with enthusiasm

- after welcoming ceremony the atreides twins and Feyd set out to explore the beaches of Caladana in search of seashells

- in the heat of the game the little princess cut her knee on a pointed stone in the sand

- little Paul immediately ran back to the family mansion to tell his parents what happened and Feyd slowly carried you back on his back, all the while saying that you shouldn't cry like a little baby over a small scratch

- when House Harkonnen was leaving you waved sadly to the little boy you had grown so fond of and who had promised to come back for you

-the second time you saw each other was three days before your wedding, which took place on Geidi Prime

- when your family landed on the planet you were greeted by the sight of a man you didn't recognize, the only clue that it was Feyd was the scabbard you which you made for him and which he now has to strap on his hip

- Even Feyd-Rautha didn't recognize his bride instead of a smiling little girl he saw a confident woman who looked strikingly like the mermaids you told him about and again what gave you away was the necklace, he made for you, around your neck

- ahh how he wished instead of the necklace it was his hand holding onto your neck during the waves of pleasure he was going to cause you when you were his

- his gaze fixed on the man who was standing behind you, he didn't like how he whispered something in your ear, you giggled, he didn't like how close he was standing behind you

- as you walked up to him he gently kissed your hand but as soon as you were about to pull your hand back Feyd gripped it tightly and slowly licked your wrist while maintaining eye contact with you

- chtěl dát najevo, že jsi jeho od chvíle, kdy jsi nasadil ten náhrdelník

Pt.2???

[ghostgirl101]

Being In A Relationship With Feyd-Rautha Would Be Like This...

A/N: Yes yesss, I'm back from the deepest depths of the dead, finals kicked my ass earlier but now its almost october and I'll burn any exam paper I see from this moment onwards 😀 don't even question why I used this gif, it pretty much summarises the whole headcanon lmao🖤so enjoy it and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist thing at the end. Keep in mind that requests are not open currently, as I'm catching up with ones already in my inbox for Dune and other dark fandoms.

Warnings: Kind of dark themes, mid violence.. it's Feyd Rautha, idk what to tell you 😐

Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎

☠︎︎• You got yourself into some weird territory with this one 😵‍💫

☠︎︎• If you're expecting any semblance of stability and pure romance, then I'd turn and run for the Dunes to find Paul instead, because this Harkonnen doesn't have an ounce of level sanity in him, and the amount of spiking tension you'll have to cope with on a daily basis is enough to give anyone a literal heart attack 💀💀

☠︎︎• My guesses are that you were introduced to Feyd-Rautha as either a pretty young Bene Gesserit girl chosen to weave her way into his life to continue the bloodline, or he liked the look of you when he was off-world in one instance to look over Spice production with his uncle, and took you back as a trophy because he liked the look of you. So lucky you. 🙃

☠︎︎• This boy is an absolute sadist and an unpredictable unhinged mess, so there's a lot to get used to, and even when you do get used to things, it could all flip and spin just as quickly. It would take a hell of a time to truly understand Feyd-Rautha enough to predict him one hundred per cent and longer to have his trust that you won't run off or try betraying him.

☠︎︎• There's definitely a kind of dangerous allure to him that he uses to his advantage, a smug grin on his face when he enters the arenas, most likely to make kills in your name. It wouldn't be a massive surprise if you became some figure in Giedi Prime to sacrifice the dead to, like some kind of goddess of the kill (ik that sounds dramatic as hell, but i see it happening .-.)

☠︎︎• Feyd-Rautha is absolutely not used to the concept of looking out for anyone other than himself, or feeling anything close to respect and love for anyone other than himself. So the relationship he forces between you and him is a shaky and slow-burning bond that works in its own weird ways and quirks, and adapts to him and him only, so there are a lot of adjustments to be made on your end. Because even though Feyd isn't sensitive in the general sense, he's majorly unpredictable, and one wrong word could set him off. Just, tread carefully in the early days.

☠︎︎• If you want affection in any other way than corpses and bruising hickies, it may take a little while, because he has no idea how to pull that kind of gentleness off, and doesn't necessarily want to either. But if it's something that'll get you to submit to his hold over you more, then he'll come round to it, and when there's absolutely no one else in the area, you might get some actual, genuine passion, though there's always a part of it mixed in with some darker conflict in him.

☠︎︎• If you want attention from him, you've got it anyway. Feyd has his own form of attachment, pretty much an obsession, but it's always tangled in with his desire to dominate and possess. It's a suffocating relationship and tipped-scales dynamic, and the only way you can really get him to see your side of things is by wording it in ways that'll make it sound like it was his idea in the first place, and that the reason is because it'll feel better for him.

☠︎︎• Needless to say, if you're a little firmer and have a dark side to you (i'll make a safe bet that you do if you want this guy x_x) this Harkonnen is a thrill seeker to the extreme, someone always looking to feel something new and raw and insatiable, like the sharpest peaks of ecstasy and adrenaline, so will he try out new stuff with you even though it sounds mental and freaky and dangerous? That's a rhetorical question.

☠︎︎• Despite all the bloodshed and his ruthless havoc in the arenas, taking lives and living for the pain of it, believe it or not, Feyd is actually vulnerable in the least suspecting way. He doesn't have an emotional connection with anyone, because he's an unhinged psycho amongst a crowd of pale unhinged psychos who expect nothing less (and.. have you watched the film?? It's confirmed that this dude has mummy issues, so... i'm just saying, look at this hc's front gif 😏)

☠︎︎• If we're talking romance and affection, just think intense. Intense intense intense, because that's the best way to describe it. His hugs are breathtakingly tight and forcefully smothering, and he doesn't kiss, he full-on makes out with you. Public or not doesn't matter, it's just an opportunity to mark you as his in front of an audience, and he'll gladly perform, so suck up your shyness.

☠︎︎• Thinking of pet names, I see Feyd-Rautha calling you either by just your true first name and having everyone else address you just by your general title, or using other typical nicknames he'd use with satisfied smirks and lingering looks. Maybe his dearest darling, because you're higher than the pets he feeds and used before you (apparently they're called harpies??!? idk what the heck lol) I don't see him saying my love or honey unless he's just being a jackass in an argument, because I'm betting my life savings this boy only eats bitter things, and he sure as hell can't define love like you can.

☠︎︎• Feyd comes across as pretty dominant in everything he does, which is right, and even if it's you questioning him, he'll throw a dangerous fit that escalates within a second no one sees, so, again you have to be clever with the way you word things. You physically and mentally cannot be independent with Feyd-Rautha, because he'll break that spirit right out of your soul. Would he physically hurt you? Not badly, no, but just don't push him, because he'll lash out without a second thought in the moment of impulse.

☠︎︎• Again with the independence, another thing that stops you from getting any is how absolutely suffocatingly obsessive he can get, which turns on his possessiveness. You're essentially an extension of himself, something that's peaceful and pure and perfect in so many ways he'll never understand and will always pull your mind apart to try to. So if any other skulking Harkonnen looking to impress you by challenging Feyd himself or devoting a kill in the arena to you, has immediately chosen the slowest, most humiliating death, that you'll probably be tied down to watch -_-

☠︎︎• And if he can tell in even the smallest way that you're drawn to someone aside from him, there's a chance you'll be kept locked up in his chambers for a month or two with no servants, nothing breathing at all permitted to trespass except him, until he's satisfied and you have him wrapped around your finger again. And that means you can get him to do practically anything if it benefits him and draws you closer, like a kill.. to maybe even destroying a whole planet, it's not impossible for him. Once he has his mind set on something, he's a hunter, he's found his target, and he'll go wild until he destroys it.

☠︎︎• He's protective in the way that he will not let you die, or get hurt in any way by any person other than him. If another Harkonnen draws your blood in the tiniest scratch, or hurts your feelings in some way, Feyd will use that as an excuse to wring their necks. You're his to look at and admire and dress up and be close to and make you feel things, so anyone else daring to step up beside you will get knocked down and fed to his darlings. The only time you'll actually see him being doting and surprisingly, cautiously gentle is when he's healing a wound without the audience of any nurses or outside help, an uncharacteristic and uncomfortable silence in the air as he concentrates and gets you back to rights.

☠︎︎• The moments where he'll allow himself to be truly close to you go unspoken, like in the cold hard nights of Geidi Prime, where he pulls you up from your bed and tugs you down the short dark corridor to dump you in his own instead, with nothing else but the need to feel smotheringly close to someone who understands how his mind works. You'll remind him of his mother, and that's all good, so long as you stay by him and with him always, because if you take the opportunity to turn and run, don't let him catch you in the act. There's a 50/50 chance he'll keep you in his rooms for the rest of the relationship, or just straight-up kill you and take in your memories and mind to possess you that way ._.

════════════════════════════════════════════

Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎 ⊹˚₊‧───────────────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @milaeth @ennycutie @nckcn @void21 @leighta @williamtt33 @deathsimp @tatumrileyslover @beebumbo @the-dark-dreamer25 @lilepad @skboo @keicdcat @1950schick @reggiesmoon @velosrantipole @yoonessa @anonymjuni @saturnhas82moons @xlxnq @frickyea-guacamole19 @meowmeeps @chalklate

════════════════════════════════════════════

DUNE MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ MAIN MASTERLIST

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

FEYD RAUTHA HARKONNEN

------------------------------------

Drabbles/Oneshots

Wait - Feyd Rautha x Y/N 🎭🍦🥀🥵🚫

Part 2

Part 3 NSFW 18+

In Time - Feyd Rautha x Y/N 🍦🥀

Part 2

Power - Feyd Rautha X Y/N 🎭🍦🥀

Series

Blood Sport - Feyd Rautha x Y/N 🎭🍦🥀🥵🚫

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 NSFW 18+

Command Me - Feyd Rautha x Plus Size! Reader 🎭🍦🥀🥵

Part 2

[andaustinbutler]

“whatever devils inside you, don’t let him out tonight”

[kasagia]

Right hand III

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After Feyd learns the truth about your dark past, you do everything in your power to prove your loyalty to him. He has many ideas for this... but will your life be able to go back to normal after that? You will either die at his hands, be exiled, return to the Bene Gesseit, or live by his side. And you yourself don't even know which of these options is worse... Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~

His dagger digs lightly into your neck, blood slowly trickling down it. You don't try to fight him, you don't push the blade away or try to rip it out of his hand. You know that if you did, you would have been killed by him long ago.

You had to play it smart… and fast—before he slit your throat, which was becoming a more likely scenario with every second.

"Feyd…" You choke out once more, trying to make him look you in the eyes and get him to listen to you. The blood is seeping out of you faster and faster as he presses the blade harder against your throat.

"Silience, witch! You little plague, bane of my existence, poisonous viper, how long have you been playing with me? How long have you been faking all this? Did you think you could outsmart me? That you can deceive me? Make fun of me? Humiliate me? I should fuck you raw, use you like a whore, and leave you in your ridiculous sisterhood to rot with those old hags!" He shouts, pressing his blade harder against your throat. The cool steel of the metal on your skin is becoming a more serious threat to your life. You shiver as you feel him taking more blood from you.

"Feyd, listen…" You try to speak again, placing your hand on his wrist. He pushes your hand away as if it posed a radioactive threat greater than anything floating in Giedi Prime's atmosphere and glares at you furiously.

"NO! You lied to me. You betrayed me. You know how I punish people for disloyalty. You're lucky that I won't throw you to my soldiers so they can play with you before I give you to my harpies. But don't worry, I will take very good care of you. You'll die like those cowardly rats you helped me kill a few hours ago…"

"You... you would... kill me... if I told you... at the beginning..." You gasp as he grabs your neck tightly and drags his blade down your body, creating a trail of blood leading to your collarbone.

"I will kill you now." He growls hoarsely, completely cutting off the air from your respiratory tract.

Your eyes widen as he lifts you off the ground so that only your toes touch the floor. Tears well up in your eyes as you desperately try to draw in air, but his hand is wrapped too tightly around your neck for the oxygen to reach your lungs.

When you realised that it was over and that he had decided on your death, the moment that Lady Jessica told him the whole truth about you, you relaxed. You let a blissful emptiness wash over you as you slowly waited for him to take your life away. You close your eyes, rest your head against the wall behind you, and let your body slowly go limp as the seconds pass without air.

You gasp, surprised, as the grip on your neck loosens so that you can take small, ragged breaths. You quickly take advantage of the opportunity and take a few shaky breaths. You open your eyes, staring into Feyd's icy blue and furious gaze in utter shock.

Was he going to play with you before he killed you? Torture, like many before you, until he finds in himself some mercy and takes your life? Because if you know one thing, it's that you won't beg him to let you go. About nothing. Never. You were too proud to do so.

"Fight." He growls, pressing you harder against the wall. He leans forward, bringing his face very close to yours. You shiver, feeling his breath on your cheek as he carefully observes your reaction to his intimidation. Like a snake waiting for the right moment to attack.

"What?" You ask stupidly, not understanding what he is doing. You've often watched him play with his victims, prolonging their suffering and giving them no hope of escaping his grip... so why does he want you to fight? Why does he want you to resist him? Was this another sick game of his?

"Fight! Scream! Struggle! Why are you not doing anything?! Why don't you beg for your miserable life, Bene Gesserit's spy?! Fight with me! Fight back! FIGHT BACK!!" He screams and throws you against the wall.

Completely unprepared for him to completely release you from his grip, you fall to the floor, too weak to keep your balance on your own. You place your hands on the black metal sheet beneath you and breathe quickly, trying to get as much air as possible before he wraps his hand around your throat again.

"I… I was always… loyal… to you…" You gasp, still trying to recover from what just happened. He walks slowly towards you. He presses the tip of his sword under your chin and forces you to lift your head and look him in the eyes.

“You have five minutes before I treat you like I treat your mentor. Use this time well. I can always get bored and kill you faster.” He takes a step back and slowly slides the blade across your skin. He steps away from you to pour himself a drink, but he keeps watching you out of the corner of his eye. You take one brief glance at Lady Jessica's body before you can compose yourself enough to formulate any logical response.

"I... I have no idea what she told you. Where she lied and where it was convenient for her to tell the truth... but whatever she told you I did... she surely doesn't know the one, most important thing. She doesn't know the reason for my actions."

"Oh, but I do. You wanted to run away from them so you wouldn't have to breed with such a monster as me. You thought that as my right hand, you would be safe, that I wouldn't notice you in the shadows, that I wouldn't want you, and that I wouldn't touch you. But I did. And by doing so, I destroyed your plans. Tell me, how many times have you escaped from Giedi Prime in your fantasies? How many times have you wanted to leave for good?"

With each question he asks, he takes a step towards you, which makes him stand in front of you again. But you didn't get up from the floor. You didn't feel like it. Besides, you doubted he would let you stand up and be on an equal level with him. He needed to feel in control, to feel that he is still dominating over you—that he didn't lose control over you despite your... betrayal. Although you didn't think it was any kind of betrayal at all. A slight omission of a few facts. Nothing more.

"I... you can't blame me for that. Anyone with survival instincts would not willingly live on Giedi Prime. But I stayed." You decide to tell him some of the truth this time. For too long, you managed to play your cards well. You had to bend a little to his will without losing your claw and not behaving like an obedient concubine, wanting to fulfil all his orders and wishes, because that would make him more suspicious, and he would definitely kill you for trying to deceive him and lie to him again.

"You stayed out of fear." He questions your words, keeping his watchful, piercing gaze on you as he tries to find in you any trace of lying.

You almost shiver under the furious gaze of his icy blue eyes. Fortunately, you manage to refrain from showing him any reaction. The metallic scent of Lady Jessica's blood motivated you to survive like nothing had before. You somehow manage to recall some of your lessons and training sessions with her as you think about how to respond to Feyd's words. Maybe her methods and rules didn't keep her alive, but unlike her, you knew Feyda-Rautha too damn well. You could get out of this. You just had to play it smart and sacrifice a few things…

"Out of loyalty to you. Sense of duty and honor. Something I thought we both shared." You say confidently, meeting his gaze bravely.

However, your attitude does not impress him at all. He lazily turns the dagger in his hands, playing with the sharp blade. He doesn't take his eyes off you, even for a moment. He just stands there, maintaining a completely calm and unruffled demeanor. It's hard to imagine now that just a moment ago, this man was overcome with the greatest anger of his entire life. You've seen him in many states, but you have never seen him that mad. Rabban may have been called a beast by others, but the real threat was his younger brother. Especially when his first anger was over and it was time for the cold calculation of revenge.

“Was that loyalty and sense of duty also present in you when you chose to ignore the fact that you were supposed to be mine? That you are destined to give me an heir so strong that the whole world will kneel before him?” This time, you can't help but shudder. He notices this and chuckles darkly, shaking his head. In a split second, the tip of his blade is once again pressed on the thin and delicate skin of your throat. You swallow, and when you meet his gaze, you realise that you have to tell the truth if you don't want to die on your knees in front of him.

"If your uncle told you to marry me and have your offspring with me, would you do it?" A frown appears on his forehead at the mere mention of the baron. His hand trembles slightly as a new wave of rage washes over him.

"What does he have to do with this?" He asks hoarsely, as he suspects you of working with his uncle. After all, you were smart enough to play both sides.

Feyd wouldn't be surprised if you reported everything he was doing to his uncle behind his back. That's why he preferred having you—a cunning, beautiful witch who was now kneeling before him—by his side. Because you were drop-dead perfect. He never expected you to make such a stupid mistake. To ever let him gain even the slightest doubt about your loyalty.

"Nothing. But the Bene Gesserit were to me what your uncle is to you. And after running away from them, the last thing I wanted to do was follow the last sick order they gave me." The years you spent with him gave you enough information about the family relationship at House Harkonnen.

They are like predators waiting for the right moment to attack, always prepared to hurt the other one when he shows even a tiny glimmer of weakness. You also know Feyd's past... or rather, the history of scars on his back. Unfortunately, these were not the only marks the baron left on him.

You hold your breath as he grabs your hair and pulls you up. You get up on your feet, and, being on an equal level with him, you no longer hesitate to look him in the eye. He releases your hair with the other, only to move it to your cheek and neck. He rubs tiny droplets of blood across yours, shifting his attention to your skin. He caresses your jawline with his finger and suddenly tilts your head back, giving himself a better view of your reddened throat, which has begun to form bruises in the shape of his fingers from how he choked you just moments ago. You swallow, watching him closely.

"And yet you served me for many years. You stayed with me after they wanted to link your future with mine. Why?"

“I was hoping the last place they would look for me would be Giedi Prime by your side. And that… after all, you won't be interested in me.”

"But I was. This must have spoiled your plans, right?"

"A little." You confess, hoping to gain something from your honesty.

After your words, there is a long silence in the room. He removes his hand from you, staring intently at you as he considers your words. You wait in suspense and anticipation for his next decision.

One quick move was enough to take your life.

And from the look in his eyes, you know it must have been tempting for him to add your blood to Lady Jessica's, which was already staining the floor of the ship.

"On your knees." His command is so sudden that it takes you a moment for your brain to process what he said.

All you can do is stare at him blankly, your heart beating with excitement and terror at the thought of his words. He didn't want to… he couldn't now… You look down at his pants and swallow, seeing the slight bulge. You hold your breath as he takes a step towards you and presses his hard length against your thigh, which undoubtedly confirms your suspicions. He lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes as you blush and realise what he is asking you to do.

"I love your doe eyes, my pet, but there's a time and a place for everything. On your knees or your heart will become another decoration of my chambers." He says it huskily, caressing your chin before letting go. He stares at you expectantly, waiting for your next move.

You swallow again, feeling a huge lump in your throat. Your mind is racing, but you know, as he does, that you have no escape. Your position is hopeless; you can either give him a blowjob or die, and you don't want to do any of it. Or touch him in any way after he disembowelled Lady Jessica in front of you. But the prospect of being his next victim reluctantly brings you to your knees before him.

"Good girl." He hums, tilting your chin slightly so you're looking at him and not the floor between you. He takes a step towards you and attaches the dagger to his arm. "Show me that your beautiful, deceptive, tempting lips, throat, and larynx can do more than feed me with sweet lies, and maybe I won't cut them out of you."

You hold your breath, your eyes trailing down to his pants. You hear him chuckle darkly before he takes your hands in his and places them on the fastenings of his pants, guiding your hands as you gradually free his length from his armour.

You swallow again at the sight of his full, hard length and curse him, as the rumours about him do not lie at all. He was enormous. Long and not too thick, but not thin either. You don't know if you'd rather he tried to cut your throat with a knife than pierce it with what stood proud between you.

"Rumours say you know how to do it. I don't remember how many soldiers I killed for the privilege of having your body before me. But each of them shared one opinion. Your fire burns as bright in battle as it does in the bedroom. Show me, my little witch, how much you care about continuing to be my right hand and having all the privileges you had." He encourages you mockingly when you stare at his slightly pre-cum-dripping cock for too long for his liking. But damn, his cum was black. You were sure as hell that the bastard was going to paint you with it.

You give him an angry, cold glare as you wrap your hand around his length. He lets out a soft moan, grabbing your jaw to make sure you keep your eyes on his. You swallow, stroking his length with slow movements of your hand as he gets even harder. Part of you is glad that he wants you to look at him. You doubt you could keep your composure if you had to look at what you had to fit in your mouth… and hopefully only in your mouth.

He growls when you drag out the inevitable too long, using only your hands on him. You can see that he likes what you're doing, but the impatience radiating from him makes you realise that it won't end with just a few caresses of your hands around his length.

Reluctantly, you lean down and wrap your lips around his tip, sucking him gently—like candy. You taste his pre-cum on your tongue, surprisingly taking in its… not-so-horrible taste. It's bittersweet on your tongue and thick. You shudder at the thought of what he would feel like inside you.

He groans, burring his hands in your hair as he gently pushes you on him to make you take more of his cock into your mouth. You choke as his length suddenly hits the back of your throat. Surprisingly, he stops pushing you and just keeps his hands in your hair, letting you adjust to his full length.

"I've always liked your hair..." He starts tugging on them to correct your rhythm. "A natural leash for my beautiful, dangerous pet..."

You growl around him in anger at his words. He groans throatily, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth at the extra stimulation he got from you. You feel tears slowly begin to well up in your eyes as he allows himself to move his hips more and more, lazily thrusting into your throat. Your saliva mixes with his pre-cum, staining the corners of your mouth.

It amazes you how gentle he is with you. How he doesn't push you too far so as not to cause you the pain you know he loves to enjoy. More than once, you had to call the medic to his concubines. Even his harpies occasionally got injured when he used them for his pleasure after a particularly exciting fight. You knew how… he could get lost in his pleasure. Yet he was extremely careful with you.

He starts thrusting into your throat faster and faster, guiding your head by your hair in time with his thrusts. You let your tears fall as he picked up a pace you couldn't keep up with. You close your eyes and feel a tear roll down your cheek. You open them, meeting his gaze, when you feel his thumb brush away your falling tear. He licked it off his finger, purring at its salty flavour.

You wrap your hands around his balls, massaging them in a circular motion, trying to make him come as quickly as possible. He laughs throatily, pounding stupidly into your mouth. Your jaw starts to hurt. You prop yourself up on his thigh with one hand, unable to stay on your knees for long on your own.

Seeing that you're having difficulty, he slows down a little, lazily digging into your throat. He luxuriated in the warmth of your mouth, and your tongue caressed his length. His gaze never falters, as he maintains eye contact with you the entire time. He strokes your cheek with his hand, then moves to your throat as he gently uses his fingertips to feel the bulge in your throat caused by his cock.

"I'll take you. Fast and hard. You'll cry as beautifully as you do now and writhe beneath me desperately, trying to escape like always, but you'll be so impaled on my cock and wrapped in the tight embrace of my arms that you won't move a fucking millimetre without my permission. I will fuck into you our Kwisatz Haderach, so no one will ever doubt that it should have been otherwise, that you don't belong with me. And the best of all is that you will not know the damn day or hour when it will happen. You will learn how to be my whore and baroness, just like you learned how to be my right hand. You'll do great, my little witch. You prove very well with your mouth and hands what a wonderful right hand you are. Much better than my own fucking hand. Much better than any of the fantasies I had. My little witch, always attending to my every need. Only fucking mine."

He moans, speeding up drastically, chasing his peak. You feel him getting closer to his orgasm as he becomes impossibly harder in your mouth and his balls tighten, ready to release his black cum. He keeps making you look at him until he growls loudly, coming into your mouth.

Earlier, you were gagging with just his length in your mouth. Now you really choke as his seed spills down your throat. He presses you against him, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, making you swallow all of his cum until it's completely inside you. Its taste is pungent, reminding you of a spicy, bitter spice.

He stays in your mouth for a while after he finishes pouring into you. He massages your scalp with his hands, clearly not wanting to release you. His cock twitches slightly, and you fear he's about to give you a second round.

He sighs, reluctantly pulling out of your mouth. He grabs your hands and guides them to his pants. You cleaned him and put him back in his pants without saying a word. You are not even looking into his eyes, knowing full well that a satisfied smile will spread across his lips the moment you do.

He grabs your arms and lifts you off your knees. You shiver, unable to stay on your two feet after being on your knees for so long, and you fall into his arms, leaning completely against him. He laughs huskily, pulling you closer to his chest. He uses his fingertip to collect the last of your saliva and his cum from the corners of your mouth and pushes his fingers into your mouth. You suck on them, meeting his eyes with your defiant, angry gaze.

He hums, smiling darkly as he watches with satisfaction as you lick his fingers. He leans forward, his nose brushing your cheek as he licks from your face and then from your neck the droplets of his black cum that leaked from your mouth as you tried to swallow everything he poured into you. You shiver as his tongue caresses the skin of your neck, tracing the small, sealed wound he inflicted on you with his dagger. He hums against your neck, disappointed at how quickly your blood clots.

Suddenly, he lets you completely go. You can barely keep your balance as he walks away from you.

"If that Atreides' bitch survived, so did her pathetic puppy. Send a message to our people in the desert. Paul Atredis is alive. We have to kill him before he and the rebels start a revolt and destroy our plans. Clean up here too. Tomorrow we have half a tribe of these rats to interrogate."

You nod dumbly, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Just a few hours ago, you were afraid for your life, and now that you... have pleased him, he acts like nothing has happened. You come to the conclusion that it bothered you more than when he pressed his blade against your throat.

"Ah, and Y/N." He says, stopping at the door and turning to look at you one last time before leaving the room. You can tell by the mischievous smile on his lips that he has nothing good planned for you. "I want to see you in my chambers tonight."

He doesn't wait for your reaction or response. He just walks out with a springy, energetic step, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You shiver as you find yourself alone in the room with Lady Jessica's corpse. You look around, and, in a desperate attempt to find some positives, you decide that at least your blood isn't staining the floor of the ship... or at least not yet.

His chambers in the main base on Arrakis are not as... ornately terrifying as those he had in Giedi Prime. You wouldn't guess that someone important lived there. It was an ordinary room with a bed, a chest of drawers, and a bathroom. No amenities, just a commander's room; definitely too poor for a na-baron.

You shiver as you feel his hand on your hip. He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your hair. He sighs, inhaling your scent. The warm air on your neck is tickling you gently. You think about how it's been too easy for him to sneak up on you lately. You've gone out of shape.

"Are you planning how to escape, little witch?" He whispers hoarsely, playing with the fabric of your nightgown.

"I didn't. And believe me, I had better opportunities in the past. So why would I escape now?" You answer his question with your own one, irritated by his suspicions.

"Because unlike me, you are very reluctant to welcome our Kwisatz Haderach into this world." You roll your eyes at his words and turn your head to give him an annoyed look. He shrugs with a smirk. He presses a kiss on the bare skin of your shoulder before resting his chin on it. "You're obviously trying to distance yourself from me, too." He adds, seeing the irritated frown on your forehead.

“Weren't you the one who thought the Bene Gesserit prophecies were just bullshit from stoned old women?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in challenge.

"I did… but this particular one seems very convincing..." He purrs into your neck. He moves one hand from your hip so his finger can trace the red line of the wound he gave you with the dagger. He tilted your head back, forcing you to rest your head on his shoulder as he placed a trail of kisses on the small scar.

"Where are your harpies?" You ask when he starts showing too much interest in your neck, peppering it with kisses.

"Should I call them? Would you like them to join us?" You wrinkle your nose, at which he laughs, amused, tightening his hold on you.

"Of course not. You know that I have... no sympathy for them." You grumble, trying to break free from his grip, which, of course, he won't let you.

"The feeling is mutual. You know, they think you're stealing me from them. And that I will quickly get bored with you, like with other... oriental pets I had, and I will come back to them."

"What are you waiting for, then?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. His hand plays with the strap of your black sleep gown, gently stroking your bare skin. He leans down, nuzzling your temple, and whispers in your ear:

“The problem is, my dear little witch, that you have taken over every ounce of my thoughts. My dreams, my nights, my days… it seems only right that I get back the time I wasted dreaming about you, right?”

You shiver, both from his words and from the way his hand slides over your body like a snake. He strokes your breasts, taking a moment to focus on them before his hand rests on your hips again. He presses you against him, clinging to you like a second skin.

"Let's go to bed. It was a very long day. For both of us..." He says, directing you towards his bed. You resist him slightly by digging your heels into the floor, but he quickly counters this by lifting you up gently, leaving your feet dangling in the air.

"Wouldn't you rather sleep alone? It's pretty warm here." You try to get out of it one last time, feeling the soft silk of his black sheets beneath you as he gently places you on his bed. He laughs mockingly, amused by your poor attempt at escape.

"Not at night. You know that well. I'd rather keep an eye on you, little witch. We don't know what monsters may be lurking in the darkness of Arrakis after we killed the Reverend Mother of those rats." He purrs, laying down next to you. You sigh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, knowing full well that your safety is the last thing he's worried about right now.

"If Paul Atreides survived, it is very likely that he could be Muad'Dib. He will come here. To avenge his mother and unborn sister." You warned him. You're trying to make this situation more… normal. Lying in his bed and in his arms wasn't the least bit normal for you, but making plans with him was. You needed to keep your mind occupied until you could fall asleep… if he let you fall asleep.

"You didn't stop me from killing her. You didn't say a word. Why? Were you afraid you'd be next?"

You shake your head. You're not going to tell him the whole truth about what you felt back then, but you know you can't lie to him. You have to tell him at least half the truth if you want to regain some of his trust... at least until you escape.

"Lady Jessica believed that Paul was the real Kwisatz Haderach, since she gave Duke Leto a son instead of a daughter. The Bene Gesserit resented her for this. She was supposed to give him a daughter. A daughter who was to marry you and give you a real Kwisatz Haderach. By disobeying their orders, she fell into their disfavour... until she gave them the idea that they might as well... fuse me with you to secure your bloodline. But the Bene Gesserit came up with the idea that I was going to be the mother of the Kwisatz Haderach. If I hadn't gone with you that night... I might as well have died at her hands. I… I guess I was glad that I survived her."

Not looking at his face helps you partially open up to him. You didn't like remembering your past. This was the one thing you had in common. You try your best to reveal as little to him as you have to, unconsciously tracing patterns in his hand as he keeps hugging you from behind. If you turned around, you would have seen his small smile at your gesture quickly disappear as he sensed the growing tension within you at the thought of Lady Jessica.

"If I had known, I would have made it more painful for her." He states, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. You look down at your joined hands and frown as he slowly strokes the skin of your hand with his thumb.

"Why?" You ask in a whisper, not moving an inch when he buries his nose in your hair.

"Because no one hurts what's mine."You snort, knowing full well the true meaning of his words. If you were just a naive young girl, you would believe in the good intentions behind these words. However, you know Feyd Rautha too well to naively believe that he won't break his favourite toys. He grabs your chin in a tight grip and turns you to face him. You swallow thickly as his intense gaze meets yours. You've never had the chance to look so closely at his icy blue eyes... "I want you by my side all the time. I need to make sure you're not planning anything behind my back, little witch."

"Haven't I proven my loyalty enough?" You ask, placing your hands on his bare chest and pushing yourself away from him gently. He chuckles darkly, letting go of your chin in a split second to grab your wrists in a tight grip. He lifts your hands, pushing them away from him and twisting them so you can't move them.

"I believe you are capable of doing much more." He murmurs against your throat, pressing kisses there and lazily sucking at your skin, which was already irritated by his dagger.

You squirm in his arms, trying to somehow protect your neck from his wandering lips. Your attempts fail, as you only give him more fun by grinding against him in a desperate attempt to escape.

Eventually, he gets bored and decides to let you go. He lets you turn your back on him again, but you don't get far. His arms wrap around you, holding you in a cage as he takes on the role of the big spoon.

"I will bring you the head of Atreides on a golden plate. There is only one Kwisatz Haderach—our future son. I won't let some dog from Caladan tell people otherwise." He whispers in your ear. You shiver, half-wishing you were stupid enough to believe in his devotion. The fact that someone can do anything you want for you. But it wasn't love. It was just an obsession. You had to remember that.

"Maybe he really is the one… or maybe it's all just nonsense made up by those old hags? Maybe there will be no Kwisatz Haderach at all? What's then?" He doesn't answer your questions. However, you manage to get some reaction out of him.

He pulls away from you, the bed creaking beneath him as you hear him turn over to his other side. The sudden chill of not having his body close to yours makes you shiver.

You find yourself regretting for a moment that whatever you said made him distance himself from you. You shake your head and sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. You try to find the most comfortable position possible when settling down to sleep. But for some reason, you don't feel tired at all. Your eyes are wide open as you listen to his soft breathing, the only other sound in the empty room.

"How did you find out about… uncle?" His sudden question makes you turn towards him. He remains turned away from you, ignoring any movement from you. You think for a moment, staring at the scars scattered across his pale, muscular back, before answering him.

"I have eyes and ears. And enough brain cells to… deduce a few things." You whisper, tracing a particularly nasty-looking scar on his back with the pad of your thumb. "I also... I went through something similar. I've told you that before. Bene Gesserit was to me what your uncle is to you." He turns slowly to face you at your words. His eyes examine you so thoroughly that you feel another shiver run through your body.

This time, when he reaches out to cup your cheek, you don't fight him. You let him, trying to decipher the unreadable look in his eyes as he continues to consider your words.

"Tell me... how could I resist when you're like this? How could I ignore you and leave you in your shadows when everything you do fascinates me to a madness that only you can heal?" He asks, tracing the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You wanted to kill me today." You remind him in an accusatory tone. You bite the tip of his finger, which only brings a smirk to his face as he moves his hand away from your face. He places it on your hip, squeezing it in a silient warning.

"I wanted to scare you. You lied to me, so you needed some punishment. Besides, you know perfectly well that if I really wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

"Not telling the whole truth is not a lie. Besides… your intentions don't make this situation any different to me." You huff, rolling your eyes. He laughs huskily, caressing your hip through the fabric of your nightgown as he moves closer to you on the bed. Your chest is pressed against his. Both of you are breathing steadily and slowly, staring intently into each other's eyes.

"Are you afraid of the little old me, my little witch?" He asks teasingly. You catch yourself watching the sparkle of amusement in his eyes shine surprisingly brightly under the light of the Arrakis moon. You can't make yourself turn your gaze off of him. And that's what terrifies you.

"Should I?" You ask in a whisper, trembling, not giving him an ounce of trust. Seeing your extremely distrustful and hostile attitude, he stops smiling. He looks at you more seriously, as he is deep into his thinking.

He doesn't respond to you. He places a kiss on your forehead and turns your back to him. He holds you tightly, buries his nose in your hair, and slowly falls asleep, wrapping himself in your warmth and scent. On your back, you feel his heart beating calmly in his strong, well-built chest. You allow yourself to sigh shakily, being finally 'alone' for the first time since this fateful day began.

And you realise that you're not afraid of him at all. The only person you are afraid of is yourself. That you would give in to your strange attraction to him one day and seal your fate. You didn't want to die. But you'd rather find yourself buried under the sands of Arrakis than let those Bene Gesserit witches control your life ever again.

"If you tear this, you'll be walking around with my hand around your throat." He warns you, seeing you struggling with the black leather choker around your neck he gave you. It looked like a fucking collar. And it was a bit too tight for you to feel comfortable in it.

"You give me so many options…" You snort sarcastically, leaving the damn choker around your neck. "I look like a fucking whore." You say and turn towards him to look at him carefully.

He wore his more formal black armour with a cape that was as dark as the rest of his outfit. He smiles sarcastically and walks over to you. He smoothes the fabric of your dress on your waist and places his hands on your hips.

"Whore? Not at all. More like my pet." He hums, trying to take in your form in a form-fitting black dress. The silver chains on your hips and chest connect into a spider's web that flows down with the fabric of the skirt of the dress, which surprisingly doesn't cling as tightly to your body as the bodice of the dress does.

It's... definitely a bolder outfit than you're used to wearing. And this time, your hair was loose. The maids put silver accessories and small diamond jewels into your hair. You were a nicely wrapped gift, especially prepared for the Na-Baron's birthday.

"What's the difference?" You ask, raising an eyebrow defiantly.

"Calm down, little witch. Rumours about your past spread quickly. We can't let people see me as a weak man who fell under the spell of a Bene Gesserit, can we?" He teases you. He leans towards you and nuzzles your cheek before his lips start to trace a path along your jaw to your neck. You sigh slightly and place your hands on his chest, trying to keep him at a distance.

"Please. Don't pretend you're not doing it for your own fucking satisfaction." You snap at him, still trying to push him away. He puts the dagger on your neck rather quickly and too suddenly, making you refrain from any form of protest for a moment as he decorates your neck with hickeys.

"I'm not even trying to deny it at all… you look stunning, by the way." He growls hoarsely. His blade moves from your neck to the top of your corset, pressing the tip against the valley between your breasts. You sigh, feeling the coolness of the blade against your chest.

"They are waiting for you." You whisper as he nuzzles his nose against yours.

"We have a moment... besides, it's my birthday. Don't you want to celebrate my adulthood?" His low tone of voice sends shivers down your spine. Even after he tosses his blade aside, you make no move to try to walk away from him.

"You're still acting like the horny teenager I met. I doubt you will ever grow up."

"Watch what you say… I can always show you how hornier I became." His warning is not just lip service. He shows it to you... very clearly as his hard length rubs against your thigh.

You grab his jaw tightly and take a step away from him. He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into his arms in one quick movement. You gasp in shock, falling into his chest. You struggle in his embrace until he slaps your ass. You glare at him furiously, at which he only tightens his grip on you.

"I want you to paint my body before the fight." He mumbles, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him.

Leading members of the high houses gathered on Arrakis to celebrate his birthday and the fact that he had managed to restore the mining and export of spices to extraordinary levels.

Feyd was to put on a spectacle, killing the most dangerous Fremen who managed to be kept alive during interrogations. However, you and Feyd have bigger worries to take care of right now. Like the baron and the emperor. Or Paul Atreides... or rather, their Muad'dib, who has not been found by you yet. Something Feyd decided to ignore for now in favor of groping you and trying to get into your pants.

Over the last few weeks, he has clung to you like a limpet. It made it very difficult for you to do any work or spy, as he was literally following you around. You felt like his favourite dog on a leash, taken for walks around the building before locking you in his chambers for the night, keeping you close to him. Even his harpies couldn't take his attention away from you. Something you really hoped would happen soon.

"It's always been… your harpies' privilege." You say as he tangles his hand in your hair.

"And now I want you to do it." He says it calmly, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him. "Do you mind?" You huff at his condescending question.

"Don't ask me questions like that; otherwise, I'll start thinking that I really have a choice here." He laughs, showing you a set of his freshly painted black teeth and shakes his head at you.

"We both know you're too smart for that, my shrewd little witch." He says this and leans in, gently brushing your lips with his. He keeps a tight grip on your hair as his kiss becomes more intense and possessive. He tightens his grip on your waist, tugging at the fabric of your dress, causing the silver chains on it to clang against each other with every move of his hand.

His hand reaches for the strings of your corset at the back, but before he can untie even one of them, there's a knock on the door.

"My Lord Na-Baron, the Baron, and your brother have just landed on Arrakis. The emperor should also be arriving soon."

You feel him tense slightly as he pulls away from you. His face hardens as he puts on his emotionless mask, staring out the window, where he could probably see the ship landing.

"Come on, little witch. I don't need to remind you to be on your best behaviour, right?" You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow.

"I think I can play your concubine for a day. Consider this my birthday gift to you, my Na-Baron." You say it sarcastically and sweetly, walking with him out of his room and towards the great hall where he would greet everyone gathered. If you were lucky enough, you might be able to escape from him for a moment or two...

"In my chambers as well?" He asks teasingly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him trying not to smile, but the corner of his lip twitches, giving him away (at least to you).

"Anywhere but there." You reply quickly, making him smile this time. At least for a second. After all, he has a reputation to uphold.

"That's okay. We don't need to do it there. There are so many other places…" He whispers hoarsely in your ear before you enter the room where the first party is to be held. You can't stop a cold shiver from running down your spine.

Doors are opening for you. You wait for him to let go of your waist and move in front of you like he usually does at these types of parties with the concubines he brought for company, but he doesn't do that at all. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist and holds you by his side as he navigates through the sea of people. You can't help but blush slightly.

If you had any doubts over the last few weeks that he was no longer interested in you, they were gone with his small gesture. He will indeed ruin you. As soon as he finds the opportunity suitable. You were afraid that the evening of his birthday might be considered in his eyes as a perfect time to do this.

But somehow you manage to get out of his sight. You position yourself against the wall, having a perfect view of the most important people in the room. The Baron and Feyd were talking about something with the Emperor and his daughter. You look at them curiously, especially since the Harkonnens have their backs turned to you. And looking at Princess Irulan in a silver dress that was constructed to resemble armour, you see in her your chance for freedom. If Feyd married her, he would probably get over his strange obsession with you.

"Lady Y/N." Feyd's older brother's mocking greeting reaches your ears. You turn to him, taking your eyes off Feyd for a moment, and nod to the man standing next to you.

"Count Rabban."

"I heard you and my brother dealt with the rats of Arrakis. My congratulations." You are quite wary of his civilised attitude. The last time you saw him, Feyd made him kiss his shoes. And yours. So you definitely didn't stay in... a neutral relationship after that.

"Na-Baron is a great commander." You reply with a polite smile. Your eyes involuntarily wander to Feyd. There's a knot in your stomach when you see him talking to the princess. You frown, wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

"I have no doubt." He nods, also looking at Feyd. "He will destroy you. Like any toy he had before you. When you lose your usefulness, he will throw you to his harpies. He's more unpredictable than me or even my uncle. But you know that... so what are you still doing by his side?" He asks, turning his gaze on you.

"I am his right hand. I live to serve him." You answer automatically, shrugging your shoulders.

"If I had known that Bene Gesserit witches were so devoted, I might have appointed one to be my right hand."

"Believe me, count Rabban, the overwhelming majority would not serve him or anyone else so loyally as I do. They would probably prefer to poison themselves." He laughs at your words, taking two drinks from the passing servant. He hands you one, but you shake your head. "I don't drink if I don't have to. Old habits from my home planet. My mother would slap my sisters and me on the hands until she could see our bones as a punishment for stealing a drink or two." You're half lying when you remember how the Reverend Mothers made sure you were completely… untainted by any substances that could make you less healthy. All for breeding. Like farm animals.

"And they say the Harkonnens are monsters. At least you can get drunk with us… well, before we torture you to death or accidentally kill you."

"I've gotten used to it. Fortunately, I have fast reflexes." You reply with a smirk, knowing full well what he's trying to do. He wanted to ingratiate himself with you while you were still important in the Harkonnen court. His brother currently despised him, and his uncle probably did too. He saw an opportunity to increase his political influence when he spotted you alone.

Suddenly, you feel someone's intense gaze on you. You turned your face to notice that Feyd's eyes were on you and not on the princess, with whom he was still talking. Judging by the way your skin was burning from the look Feyd was giving you, you could tell he didn't like his brother being close to you at all.

And Feyd was incredibly pissed off and furious. In his eyes, Rabban wasn't worthy enough of your time, attention, or even being close to you to have the pleasure to smell the scent of your perfumes. But not only did his brother have the courage to talk to you; he even made you smile. Feyd was already planning in his mind how to tear his head off.

Na-Baron would have done just that if an arrow had not suddenly passed between him and Princess Irulan.

Panic filled the room when suddenly, a hail of arrows hit random people. You grabbed your blade and were about to move towards the first archer you noticed, but suddenly a cold steel was pressed against your neck. The Fremen woman holds you tight. You can only stand there calmly and watch as they overpower the more important representatives of the great families, leading the less important people out of the room. Feyd's blue irises are focused on you all the time, which surprisingly makes you feel a little better.

"Silience!" You freeze when you see Paul Atreides emerge from the crowd of Fremen.

Your informants haven't told you much about him. He had done well since he was forced to live on Arrakis among the Fremen. He became stronger, smarter, and more ruthless. He had no weaknesses… except one. You look around the room, your eyes locking on the woman who stood a few metres away from you. His lover.

If living among powerful men taught you anything, it was that they only had a few weaknesses. Fear for their lives, property, title, and, among those younger and less experienced in life, their loved ones. But Paul Atreides changed on Arrakis. He wasn't the little boy you knew during your training with his mother. You could only hope that he loved his woman enough to consider rescuing her. Maybe you will buy enough time before your trops, waiting on ships above Arrakis, come to rescue you.

"Let me go. Give me your blade. Keep your mouth shut and close your eyes for the next 30 minutes." You use your voice on the woman who holds you.

While she does what you told her, you try to get to Atreides' lover unnoticed. You ignore his speech; your heart is racing in your chest, and all you can hear is the sound of your blood flowing in your blood vessels.

When you reach the Fremen woman, you quickly disarm her and press your dagger to her neck. Atreides stops his speech. Before anyone can react, you take a deep breath and say loudly:

"Everyone ten steps back. Stay still, or slit your throat with the nearest weapon." Everyone in the room is listening to you. You have to take a few steps back with the woman you have in your iron grip. You tremble as you feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, especially Feyd's. However, your gaze is fixed only on Paul Atreides.

"This is impossible… what are you?" He asks in shock, not moving after you forced him and everyone else in the room to back away from you.

"It doesn't matter, Atreides. Take your men and get out of here. I advise you well." You growl furiously at him. You feel the blood start to pulsate in your veins. The old wound on your side is slowly starting to open up under the pressure your body is going through. You're glad you're wearing a black dress. At least not all of them will see the blood stain on your dress when it will be leaking out of you more and more by the second.

"You cannot keep them under your will forever. You'll soon get tired, faint, or bleed to death." He reasons, fully aware that your crowd control is time-limited.

"My men will be landing here soon. They'll take everyone who counts and fly away with us, raining nuclear bombs on your precious little desert. The spice from these areas may have been contaminated for several centuries, but we still have the opposite pole of Arrakis to exploit and extract it. So better choose wisely."

He frowns at your words, looking at you carefully and analysing your facial expressions carefully. You stare at him hard and unfazed, even though you feel the fabric of your dress sticking to your open wound. You have a staring fight with each other until you press your dagger a little more into the woman's throat and take her blood. He looks briefly at his girl before he opens his mouth to speak.

"We've met before, right?"

"You have one minute to make a decision before I make your woman bleed to death in front of you." You say hoarsely, feeling your muscles tremble slightly. But you hold on with all your might, maintaining your calm, dangerous, hostile attitude.

You all wait in suspense to see what he will do. He might as well attack and kill you, risking his men overpowering any reinforcements that come to your rescue. But you hope he's considerate enough to back off. If not because of the people who came after him, then because of his girlfriend or concubine, whose life now depends solely on you.

You almost sigh in fucking relief when he takes a step back. You let him get out of your control, looking at him carefully all the time. You swallowed and let go of his woman.

"Follow your Muad'Dib." You command the people of the desert. They stare at you for a moment before their eyes rest anxiously on their leader. He nods at them as he slowly leaves the room.

As quickly as they arrived, they left. You stand at attention for a long time—a minute, an hour, or hours—until you hear the ship approaching and the movement of the sands of Arrakis under the influence of sandworms.

They left. You realise this with relief. However, it is a very short-lived relief. It ends when your eyes meet the eyes of the reverend mothers, who are clearly communicating with each other. You fucked up. You revealed that you were a Bene Gesserit, or at least that you knew some of their tricks. Unconsciously, you completely let go of control over the gathered crowd.

"Why didn't you wait for your people so we could kill them? Kill him?" The emperor's voice reaches you vaguely. You raise your head and meet the gaze of an old man standing a few steps away from you.

"I bluffed, my emperor." You reply shakily, feeling blood start to flow from your nose as well.

"What?" He asks in shock, unable to believe that all your talk was a pure bluff. You don't have the strength to explain anything. You can stare blankly at the floor, feeling your strength slowly begin to drain away after you use the voice on the people gathered in the room.

"I bluffed." You repeat, feeling your heart beat rapidly against your chest. Your vision becomes completely blurry; all you can hear is the buzzing in your ears, the pounding of your heart, and the slow dripping of your blood onto the floor.

"But… you…" Whatever he was about to say, he's interrupted by you falling to your knees. You don't register at all what's happening around you. The only thing you are sure of is that there are suddenly a lot of people around you.

You're clinging to what little consciousness you have when you suddenly feel something pull you against the hard wall of muscle. You lean against the unexpected support, slowly drifting into blissful unconsciousness as you no longer feel the pain from the open wound on your side. The hoarse call of your name makes you a little more aware, enough to distinguish Feyd's voice from the indistinct gibberish around you.

"Get a medic here!"

He whispers something else to you as he brushes your hair out of your face, but you don't hear anything anymore. You let yourself go into the blissful darkness, happy that you can rest, at least for a moment. And you feel surprisingly comfortable, with the warmth of his arms and his scent being the last things you feel before passing out.

You're surprised that when you wake up in the hospital wing, there's no one at your bed, looking at you like a guard dog. Once you get used to the feeling of being fully aware, you rub your eyes. The moonlight shines through the window, illuminating a dark and empty room you found yourself in.

You ignore the strange twinge in your chest when you don't see your Na-Baron anywhere near you and slowly sit up on the bed. You check the status of your wound and are pleased to see that you are in a more stable condition than you were a few hours ago.

You place your feet on the floor and slowly stand up, testing your muscles. You're relieved to see that it's not as bad as it was in the past. You walk over to the chair where a black silk robe is hanging and put it on. You take a moment to search the room, smiling hugely when you find your daggers on the nightstand next to your bed. You attach one to your thigh and tuck the other inside the sleeve of your robe. Maintaining great silence, you tiptoe out of the room.

You sigh in relief as you wander the empty corridors again, hiding in their shadows. You feel like a newborn, like a fish that has returned to the current of a familiar river. You weren't aware of how therapeutic it was for you to wander the halls alone at night until Feyd trapped you in his arms and his bed practically every night. You missed it. Very much so.

However, today's attempted attack by Atreides made you realise that you were too focused on getting away from Harkonnen and trying to keep him at a distance. You had to take action. Otherwise, Paul Atreides will cut off your head, just like his mother once wanted to do.

You shudder as you remember the day you escaped from the Bene Gesserit sisters' sanctum.

You ran barefoot through familiar corridors in the cold, dark night. You didn't need a torch or other light. You had lived within these walls long enough to know which corridors ended in dead ends and where to turn to reach each gate. But Lady Jessica knew them as well as you. You had to be a lot smarter if you were going to escape the woman who wanted you dead.

Yesterday there was a great meeting of Reverend Mothers after Lady Jessica failed to give birth to Leto Atreides' daughter at the right time. The Reverend Mothers had to find... a new breeding mare for Feyd Rauthy, from whose blood the Kwisatz Haderach was to be created. They chose you. And now, because of this honour that had been a death sentence for you from the very beginning—a curse, an evil fate that seemed to have stuck with you since your birth—Lady Jessica had tried to kill you in your sleep and was now trying to complete her work.

You decide to go to the ramp, hoping that you might be able to capture some small ship—something flying around—that would get you away from those damn Bene Gesserit.

You knew you were too weak to fight Lady Jessica. She taught you a lot, but not how to defeat someone stronger, like her. If you wanted to live, you needed to find a way to escape.

You speed up as you hear the click of her heels behind you. You run as fast as you can, reaching the door just as Lady Jessica appears at the end of the hall. You close the door behind you with a loud snap. You sigh, leaning against it for a moment. You freeze as you feel the blade against your throat.

"Step away." You order in panic before opening your eyes. A cold chill runs through you as you see Na-Baron Harkonnen's cold blue irises staring at you in shock as he obediently steps away from you.

You stand there for a few minutes, staring at each other without saying anything. Na-Baron examines you carefully: your dishevelled state, rapid breathing, red cheeks, and bare feet. You have no idea what he deduced, but it was enough for him to not immediately slit your throat for using the voice on him.

"You should go back to your sisters, little witch. Unless you want to join me, I wouldn't say no to the company of... such a pretty mouse." He speaks hoarsely. He doesn't wait for your answer, though. He simply turns and walks slowly towards the ship his men are packing. You swallow and wonder: Is death at the hands of Lady Jessica or at the hands of Harkonnen? Your pride chooses for you.

"I'm not a mouse, I'm a warrior." You reply, gathering all your inner courage. Na-Baron stops in his way.

His raspy laugh sends another shiver down your spine as he slowly turns back to face you. He approaches you slowly, each step perfectly calculated as he stands a few millimeters in front of you, invading your personal space. You raise your head proudly and meet his gaze with your own, determined one.

Which impresses him.

So much so that he reaches for the dagger strapped to his hip. You don't flinch when he runs the tip of the dagger across his tongue. You watch him closely, waiting for him to either slit your throat or accept the challenge. Feyd is surprised. And very curious—too curious—to simply walk away and continue on his path. That's why he takes your hand in his and hands you the dagger he was just testing.

"So show me what you can do, little witch. Except for using that honeyed voice of yours." He says it mockingly and takes two steps back, drawing another hidden blade from his armour.

You don't remember the entire fight clearly. The adrenaline was pumping through you so much that you only remember snippets of that dance with him with daggers in your hands. Surprisingly, neither of you disarmed the other. You stopped as you both placed your blades against the other's flesh—at points that would guarantee instant death if either of you decided to press the blade against the skin a little harder.

"You fight well, little witch." He praises you, moving away from you. "You're wasting yourself here." He says, looking at you acutely for a long time, considering something. But finally, he nods at you and turns again to join his men and board the ship. You quickly grab his hand before he gets too far away from you. You feel him tense at your touch, but he doesn't make any moves.

"Let me go with you. My blade will be an extension of yours, Na-Baron. I'll be your spy from the shadows, just... get me out of here." He widens his eyes slightly, unprepared for such a request. He turns towards you and glares at you with his icy irises.

It could very well be a trick from those witches, but Feyd would be lying if he didn't say that you caught his attention the first day he saw you training. And he really wanted to see what you were really capable of doing. Few had the guts to challenge him. And he found it somehow charming—how your eyes shone with determination every time you held the blade in your hands.

"Your sisters won't be happy when they find out that I took one of them to Giedi Prime." He says, feigning hesitation. His people knew him well. If he wanted something, he took it. A group of old witches wouldn't stop him, not now that he saw... great potential in you. Maybe not only as one of his soldiers.

"With all due respect, your house is not known for following anyone's rules except those you set. I… I can't stay here any longer."

His heart beat faster, seeing the desperation and helplessness in your eyes. Normally, he would laugh at someone who showed him weakness and kill him on the spot without much thought. But you... when you stared at him with those pleading eyes of yours, flushed from fighting him... it did something to him.

Feyd knew the feeling of helplessness. His uncle loved making him feel this way. And Feyd himself finds great enjoyment in making others feel that way. Humiliated. Weak. Scared. Somehow he didn't like the fact that staying in the sisterhood made you... feel like that and do such desperate actions as coming with him to Giedi Prime.

However, he had no intention of letting go of such a valuable bird that was voluntarily pushing itself into his cage.

"Well, you fight better than most of my men... I will make you my right hand. And as for your Bene Gesserit sisters..." You sigh softly as he reaches for your hair and cuts it in half. He cuts your shoulder and dips the cut hair in your blood. You see him put a few strands in his pocket, before he handed them to his servant, growling something at him in his native language. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I told him to convey my thanks to the Reverend Mother for... sending me a delightful toy. He might also mention that my darlings liked your meat." You nod, swallowing. He laughs mockingly, patting your shoulder. "You have many things to learn, little witch. You better prove to me that I wasn't wrong about you, or you will suffer exactly the fate that my servant will pass on to your sisters. I don't like weakness and disappointment."

"I have no intention of disappointing you, Na-Baron."

"Good. Come with me. I'm fed up with this planet. Besides, you need to change your clothes if you don't want my men to think you're a whore they can enjoy while on our journey." He nods and walks towards the ship. You follow him like his shadow, casting cold, sinister glances at the people staring at you.

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself, my lord." You reply confidently as you walk with him up the ramp to the Harkonnen ship. You see a small smile appear on his face at your words.

"I don't doubt that. However, I wouldn't want to lose more people than necessary. It's supposed to be your job to clean up after me, not the other way around, little witch." He responds, testing you and carefully watching your reaction. You don't flinch, perfectly prepared and familiar with... the brutality of the Harkonnens.

"Duly noted. There's only one thing I don't understand." He doesn't stop in his steps, but he gives you a quick glance and hums, allowing you to continue and ask a question. "I appreciate it very much, but… why didn't you kill me at the entrance?"

He chuckles hoarsely at your question and stops at a specific door. He turns to look at you, a spark of amusement shining in his eyes as he studies you like a predator would its prey before deciding to answer you.

"You didn't apologise or beg for your life. I found it... very refreshing." He says, opening the door. The metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils. You look into the room and see several prisoners chained to the wall of the ship with some strange cuts on their chests—probably some words in Harkonnen."Your first task, little witch. My darlings are very hungry. They will need the meat of my enemies. Come back here in an hour... I should finish by then. And change that rag you wear. I want to see you only in black." He orders, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, blinking and staring at the door, as you are suddenly thrown into a new reality that you have to get used to. You mutter a series of curses under your breath as you go searching for... any clothes or shoes. The cold metal of the ship's floor and the dried blood in some places made walking around on your bare feet quite uncomfortable.

Feyd-Rautha was indeed psychopathic... but it was better for you to be the devil's right hand than his mistress. And it was certainly better to inhale the toxins of Giedi Prime than to smell the flowers from underneath your grave.

You find yourself in front of a door that you don't want to go through. But you know you have to do it if you want to remain free and independent of anyone. You couldn't escape now. Not before Feyd-Rautha. You had to pay the price of your freedom with someone else's freedom. And you were ruthless enough to do it without blinking an eye. Maybe the years of living with Harkonnen really made you one of them...

You knock and enter the cave of Feyd's three harpies.

As you might expect, they don't welcome you very warmly. As soon as you close the door behind you, you hear their hisses. They stop feasting on some Fremen and glare at you, slowly approaching you.

"Relax, ladies. I'm here... to make a small agreement." You announce, taking a seat in the only chair that, surprisingly, isn't covered in anyone's blood. The women look at each other distrustfully and approach the table where you are sitting.

"Agreement?"

"With a little witch?"

"We don't make any agreements with our meals; we simply eat them."

You don't flinch at their words. Instead, you nod and draw your dagger when they get too close to you. Two of them move away automatically, but one—the oldest of them—continues to look at you. You give her a cold and dispassionate glare as you play with the blade in your fingers.

"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. About... a food. A great meal. A feast you will remember for a long time, ladies." You try your best to sound encouraging.

Their eyes light up, interested as you meet a fresh meal. You know perfectly well that they haven't eaten anything... desirable for a long time. They probably had to drag the body of this miserable man to their chamber themselves since you didn't have time to... make sure they were fed. And if there's one thing you can get on Giedi Prime with something other than power and sex, it's food.

"The little witch is planning something…"

"The little witch is up to something interesting…"

"The little witch wants to do something against our master…"

You look at them unfazed as they read that you have no clear intentions at all when it comes to working with them. But anyone who managed to survive on Giedi Prime and Arrakis was surely a man whose conscience had gone a long time ago.

And maybe your plan wasn't good for everyone... but it was definitely good for you. And Feyd. He'll agree with you... or at least you hope so. You're still not sure if his obsession with you was just a passing whim or if he really wanted to keep you with him. But you didn't want to end up like his concubines and pets.

"Possibly... but isn't that what you want? For your master to give you his attention again instead of taking care of me?" This seems to interest them even more than the promise of food.

"What do you want, little witch?" The oldest harpy asks you, looking at you carefully. You give her a mischievous, sinister smirk.

'"Have you ever thought of feasting on the Baron?" Your question hangs in the room. The harpies watch you carefully, smiling slowly and showing a row of black teeth.

Nothing united women like a common enemy.

To be continued... Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896

[youaintnothinbuta]

"Who does he think he is?" — Austin Butler x reader

Summary: you and Austin are attending an awards show when your ex, a popular singer performs a song clearly aimed at yours and Austin’s (much happier) relationship.

Pairing: austin butler x reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: fluff! Toxic ex, protective austin

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Austin, dressed to the nines, sat in the front row of the grand hall, your fingers intertwined with his. Hollywood’s finest gathered under one roof. Celebrities mingled and photographers captured moments, their cameras flashing like a thousand tiny stars. Austin, looking handsome as per usual in his suit, couldn’t take his eyes off you. He’d already swept up a few awards, which were being kept safe with his manager, wherever she was. But when the host walked back up on stage to announce the next musical performance in between awards, a sense of dread filled you.

"And now, please welcome to the stage... (your ex’s name)!" The crowd erupted in applause as he, a popular singer, and more important the guy who showed you exactly what you didn’t want in a relationship stepped onto the stage.

Austin squeezed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours for any sign of unease. You forced a smile. You hadn’t seen him in over a year, and your breakup with him had been anything but amicable.

He grabbed the microphone, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. A sly smile spread across his face, and your stomach churned.

"This song," he began, his voice smooth and dripping with intent, "is dedicated to a special someone in the audience tonight."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, heads turning to look at you. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your grip on Austin’s hand tightening. You leaned closer to him, whispering, “This is humiliating.”

Austin’s jaw clenched, his protective instincts kicking in. “Do you want to leave?” he whispered back, his voice barely audible above the applause as he began to sing. The song’s lyrics were painfully obvious, a lament about a girl leaving and finding happiness elsewhere—clearly aimed at you and your new relationship with Austin.

Maybe only 20 seconds into the performance, and you couldn’t take it any longer. You squeezed Austin’s hand, your way of telling him you wanted to go, and without a moment’s hesitation, he stood up, pulling you with him. He walked you out of the room, the curious gazes of celebrities and cameras trailing after you.

Once outside, you found a quiet corner away from prying eyes. Your composure shattered, tears of frustration and embarrassment welling up in your eyes. He lifts a finger up to your eyes, drying them before you could ruin your makeup.

"Who does he think he is?" You exclaimed, your voice quivering. "That was so embarrassing, Austin. How could he do that?"

Austin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "I’m sorry, Y/N. He’s an idiot. I promise he’s embarrassing himself more than you."

You buried your face in his chest, taking comfort in his steady heartbeat. "Do we go back in?" You asked, her voice muffled. "There were already so many cameras on us."

Austin kissed the top of your head, stroking your back gently. "We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? We can leave if you want, or we can go back in there."

You took a deep breath. "I don’t want to let him ruin our night. Let’s go back in. But can we wait until he’s done?"

"Of course," Austin said, his voice soothing. "We’ll take our time."

You stayed in your secluded corner for a while longer, Austin holding you close, whispering reassurances and planting gentle kisses on your forehead. Eventually, the sound of applause signaled the end of his performance, and the energy shifted back to excitement for the next performer.

Austin looked into your eyes, his expression filled with love. "Ready?" he asked, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

"Ready," you replied.

Hand in hand, you made your way back into the hall, your heads held high. The moment you re-entered, the atmosphere shifted again. As you took your seats, Austin leaned in close and whispered, "I’m so proud of you."

You smiled. "Thank you, Aus."

You grabbed his face, planting a deep kiss on his lips, just to really drive your point home. The rest of the evening passed without incident. You enjoyed watching other actors and directors win their awards and mingled with friends.